


The First Dance

by writeratheart007301



Series: The S.H.I.E.L.D. Files [8]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action/Adventure, Established Relationship, F/F, Mission Fic, Post-Mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:21:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 36,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29199027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeratheart007301/pseuds/writeratheart007301
Summary: “So, what are your thoughts on marriage?”
Relationships: Maria Hill/Natasha Romanov
Series: The S.H.I.E.L.D. Files [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896979
Comments: 14
Kudos: 107





	1. The Marriage

**Author's Note:**

> I am so, _so_ nervous about this, you have no idea. 
> 
> Anyway, the drill's the same. Standalone plot. Events independent of the earlier story "The Golden Cage."
> 
> Thanks so much for all the wonderful comments, by the way! It's always great to hear from you!
> 
> And, like I said, I am freaking nervous about this one. Because, you know, _the summary, God._ I really hope I've done justice. 
> 
> Oh, and Happy New Year! (Though I'm terribly late).
> 
> Apologies for any typos/grammatical errors. Enjoy the story and stay safe!

#### The Soldier

_No way._

Maria could hardly believe her eyes. Wait, scratch that; she _couldn’t_ believe her eyes _._

Of all the places to get married, she’d most definitely not expected _this._

Maria exited her car, and she nearly closed the door on her own fingers, her gaze still glued to the structure staring back at her.

_Should’ve checked the place out before…_

Or, you know, just _asked Natasha._

“Hey there, hot stuff.”

The sound had come from a fair distance beside her – its timing almost _cosmic_ – and Maria smiled to herself; the catchphrase never failing to please her, even after so long.

“Speak of the devil,” Maria said, turning to face the Russian.

And Natasha gasped over-exaggeratedly, “Didn’t anyone tell you, you shouldn’t use the D-word at a _wedding…”_

“No D-words allowed?” Maria lamented, just as dramatically, “That’s just unfortunate…”

“How else am I supposed to say _‘I do?’_ ” Maria said, winking at the redhead.

She added a shrewd grin, knowing that the retort was impeccable. And it was promptly proven by Natasha’s hearty chuckle, her flaming red tresses billowing in the evening breeze as she shook her head.

The November wind – well, soon to be _December_ wind – was just a tad chilly, but the Russian barely seemed fazed by it as she sauntered up to Maria, that signature Romanoff-swagger in her strides.

“Hey there, hot stuff,” the redhead spoke, the cutest smile on her lips.

“Yeah, you said that already,” Maria replied, a tad confused at the repetition.

Natasha widened her grin, “The first time wasn’t for _you,_ soldier…”

The redhead shifted her gaze towards something beside them, and Maria understood.

She was talking about the _venue._ Of the wedding.

And _“hot stuff”_ was nowhere even _close_ to describing it.

Maria turned to face it again, admiring the building – _the beautiful mansion –_ along with Natasha. It was like something right out of a story; the towering structure more regal than anything Maria had ever seen. What, with its –

_Okay, wait. We need to come clear first._

_Right,_ so, it wasn’t _their_ wedding. It was _a_ wedding. That they were _attending._ As _guests._

Ha, psyche...(?)

_They might just kill us for this._

_Anyway,_ back to business, shall we? Because it actually _was_ “business.” As in, the wedding was a part of their 3-month long mission.

This was the first undercover op since their last one in Brazil – 8 months ago – and it was actually quite relaxed.

_It’s been just two weeks, Hill. Don’t get cocky._

Out of habit, Maria slipped a hand into one of the pockets on her dress pants, checking that the _other_ phone – the one with all of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s fancy tech – was still in there. The device was equipped with algorithms which would allow them to access virtually _any_ database – government or private – if they needed to.

Honestly, though, it felt kind of weird to Maria that the phone was the only piece of gadgetry that they were carrying, given that they’d been on far too many indescribably _insane_ ops before this one. She figured that _this_ mission was Fury’s way of letting them blow off some steam.

 _So,_ he’d shipped them off to India. To Udaipur, specifically.

_Or “The City of Lakes,” as it’s known out here…_

And the town was _exactly_ what they needed it to be: quaint and quiet. With its ornate temples, narrow whitewashed streets, and, of course, the _magnificent_ mansions, the city was like –

“A whole new world…” Natasha murmured, right on cue.

The redhead’s eyes were still fixed on the palace – it was a real, _literal, royal_ palace where the Indian maharajahs used to once reside – and Maria couldn’t help the low whistle that left her own lips. The mansion was set right along the banks of a lake, and that beautiful backdrop only made the view all the more idyllic.

And Maria just had to hum in approval, “… a dazzling place I never knew.”

Natasha turned to look at her, her lips pulled up in a fond grin, recognising the lyrics of the classic Disney song. It was cheesy-as-hell – the _Aladdin_ reference that Maria had just made – but Maria still smiled back.

“Ahuja _really_ knows how to throw a wedding,” Natasha chuckled, her voice a tad breathless.

Ahuja. Karan Ahuja. The young, _stinking_ rich, quintessential tall-dark-and-handsome CEO of one the largest conglomerates in the Indian subcontinent. The guy whose marriage they were attending. And lastly, their “boss.” For the course of their mission.

“I know, right,” Maria mumbled, looking towards the mansion again, “I’m surprised he even invited his employees. This place is _literally_ for aristocrats…”

“Well, we’re the _elite_ employees,” Natasha replied, as haughty as ever, “He _has_ to invite the _‘top financial analysts’_ that are going to help him find out who’s bleeding his empire dry.”

So, yeah, that’s basically it. They were “private consultants” who’d been “hired” by Ahuja – hired on a “project-basis” – to investigate the several embezzlements that his company had faced in the past months.

The case had sparked S.H.I.E.L.D.’s interest because of the opportunity to gather intel on the black-market-sitch in the Indian peninsular. Ahuja himself was clean – well, as much as a man of his wealth could be – but S.H.I.E.L.D. was concerned with the other end of the money trail.

“Well, that’s our _day_ job,” Maria scoffed back at the redhead, “If only Ahuja knew what his _‘elite’_ employees were doing by the night…”

Stealing proprietary information and feeding it to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s database.

But – _of course –_ that _wasn’t_ what Natasha interpreted.

“Oh, he’d _wish_ he knew what we did at night…” the Russian drawled, the simper on her lips all but _satanic._

And the foxy grin on Natasha’s face widened some more in just a second, “… _and_ during the day, sometimes.”

_Damned minx._

She _put_ the _“in”_ in the _“incorrigible.”_

“Ain’t no rest for the wicked, is there, Romanoff?” Maria huffed, shaking her head in (fake) condescension.

And the Russian promptly wiggled her eyebrows, _“Never.”_

Maria grinned back, already enjoying the way the evening had started off. She was actually looking forward to attending the marriage. Because even though it was a part of their op, the _wedding_ was really just that: a wedding. That they’d been invited to by their boss.

 _For once,_ there was no ulterior mission-motive – not _at the moment –_ and they could just enjoy the event as actual guests.

(And _that_ meant that they had all the liberty to bring _on_ their high jinks.)

_Pretty chill, right?_

_Right._

“Well,” Maria said, sub-consciously running a hand down the blazer of her pantsuit, “Let’s pray that the wicked look posh enough for a palace.”

She meant it more for _herself,_ because Natasha was dressed to rule.

The Russian was in a navy-blue jumpsuit, the outfit – and her curves in it – _on fleek._ Natasha had added a thin gold belt over the dress, its buckle glamorous but not gaudy. The sleeves of the apparel had chiffon cape-like extensions, and the lacy material swishing in the wind made the overall appearance seem even more grand.

Maria was in a burgundy-ish pantsuit herself – the colour nearly matching the red of Natasha’s tresses – and the attire was sufficiently form-fitting. Unlike the redhead, Maria had pulled her hair up in a low (and meticulously tied) messy bun, hoping to look smart-with-just-a-dash-of-professional. She’d left the button of her blazer open, and the black top inside it was as snug as it was snazzy.

_But the people inside this mansion are going to be far too jazzy._

“You look _drop-dead-gorgeous,_ Hill,” Natasha said, that trademark smirk on her lips, “There’s a reason I call you _‘hot stuff.’”_

The Russian observed Maria’s attire for a bit before speaking again, “The suit seems new. I haven’t seen it before.”

 _You would have seen it,_ Maria wanted to point out, _if you hadn’t been busy the whole day today, doing God-knows-what God-knows-where._

“And _damn,_ the _colour,”_ Natasha was still gushing, “I didn’t even know you _did_ red, Agent Grey-or-Blue-it-has-to-be-one-of-you...”

Maria would have scoffed, but she had a better retort in mind, and she grinned back cunningly.

“Oh, I do red, alright,” Maria whispered, her eyes flitting towards the redhead’s tresses.

Maria then trailed her gaze down her girlfriend’s body, a wolfish grin on her lips, “I _‘do’_ red _all the time…”_

Natasha promptly grasped the meaning, and she returned a wicked smile, _“Yeah,_ you do…”

They widened their grins at the same time, and Maria had to wonder whose was more devilish.

“You look great too, by the way,” Maria said eventually, giving the shorter woman’s outfit another once-over, _“Hot-as-hell,_ actually. Is that –”

“Prada, Hill, _Prada,”_ Natasha answered emphatically, as if it were the most obvious thing, “The _Devil_ wears Prada.”

And Maria chuckled at her girlfriend’s antics. (And the fact that she’d predicted the question).

(And the quip.)

Natasha raked her gaze over Maria’s figure yet again, “What about you? Who are you wearing tonight?”

It was a tad ironic, actually; the brand.

And the game just couldn’t be ignored.

“Why don’t you take a guess,” Maria replied, a half-grin on her lips, “You seem to have a knack for doing that.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes and brought her hand up to rub her chin, making a big show of contemplating the challenge. And Maria knew that the Russian was going to accept it – like she _always_ did – but she still stared back at the woman gravely, humouring the theatrics. (Like _she_ always did). 

“For a game of this kind,” Natasha spoke eventually, feigned solemnity spilling from her voice, “Surely you must have a prize in mind…”

_Ah, yes, of course. The rhymes are back._

Maria bent down a little, bringing their faces closer, and gazed deep into the most _gorgeous_ green orbs.

“Ask me for anything and I’ll give it, if you get it right by the third try,” Maria whispered, “And _that,_ Romanoff, is an offer you just _can’t_ deny.”

The redhead’s emeralds lit up instantly, and she was clearly struggling to smother her smile.

“You in your Genie-mood today?” Natasha replied, an eyebrow cocked up.

And Maria smirked back wolfishly, “Well, you _did_ rub me the right way.”

 _“Touché,_ Hill,” the redhead whispered, finally letting herself grin fully.

“You’re entitled to two clues,” Maria said, straightening herself, “You can ask for them whenever you want.”

“And we go old-fashioned with this,” Maria added, “So, no tricks or schemes, please. You have the whole wedding to chance your luck.”

The Russian gave her an excessive nod, accepting the “rules” for their duel.

“Fair enough,” Natasha said, a slow smirk forming itself her lips, “Either way, what you’re wearing wouldn’t matter by the end of the night.”

And Maria knew _just_ what was going to follow that.

“Because, by _then,”_ the Russian purred, that fiendish glimmer in her orbs, “You’ll be wearing _me.”_

_Yup. I was right. Word-for-freaking-word._

Maria rolled her eyes and shook her head. Natasha wiggled her brows and grinned back. The usual drill, you know. The usual _thrill,_ you know.

If she was being honest, Maria’s world really was grey-or-blue. It was _Natasha_ who brought in every other hue.

Once upon a time, Maria’s life used to oscillate between hopelessly hectic and helplessly humdrum. But with Natasha, it had become _happy._ Maria – _Agent Hill_ – had actually started _smiling_ on a daily basis _._

And, not to mention, the _games._

_God, I live for them._

The way the Russian was able to excite Maria, Maria doubted anyone or anything else ever could…

A horde of invitees passed them to enter the mansion, and Maria snapped out of her reverie. She was reminded that they should be going in too, and she reached into her pocket to bring out her car keys, her eyes searching for the valet.

Maria found the guy soon enough, and she was about to wave him over when she felt a touch on the same arm. She turned to find Natasha grinning at her slyly.

 _“You know,”_ the Russian began, her voice a cheeky purr, “We’ll have to be all tame and lame once we’re among those hoity-toity people.”

 _“So,”_ Natasha drawled, her eyes glimmering, “Could we have one for the road, before we go in…?”

The redhead pouted her lips suggestively, and Maria quickly understood what the woman was implying.

“You want me to _kiss_ you right now?” Maria scoffed, an eyebrow cocked up, “When there’s a _parade_ of guests walking barely 20 feet away from us?”

_She does remember we’re undercover, right?_

Maria stuck out her thumb for emphasis, pointing at the growing crowd of people trudging towards the entrance of the mansion, but Natasha was hardly even affected.

“Okay, how about this,” the Russian said, her own brows raised, “If you kiss me right here, right now – _out in the open –_ then I’ll drop one of my tries. For our little guessing game.”

_A game before the game? Interesting…_

Maria considered the dare. It was tempting – for more reasons than one – but also _dangerous._

_Ain’t that the best combination, though?_

“Nope,” Maria said eventually, “I can’t do it. Someone we know might see us and recognise us.”

“And we’re _employees,_ remember?" Maria added, "Ahuja Enterprises has very strict rules about workplace fraternisation.”

“Come _on,_ Maria,” Natasha argued, “The people back at the office already know that we live together. I’m pretty sure they must’ve guessed that we do more than just _talking_ in our PJs.”

(That’s right; they’d been assigned the same “company quarters.” Which was, essentially, this cute two-bedroom-hall-kitchen house in the main city. Of course, the world thought they were just _sharing_ the house, but obviously, only _one_ of the two bedrooms was being used.)

“There’s such a thing as _being room-mates,_ Nat,” Maria pointed out, smirking teasingly, “Not everyone has a one-track mind like yours. The innocence is still alive in some of us.”

“And I’d like to _keep_ it alive,” Maria added, “So, you can forget your dreams of getting a kiss right now.”

The shorter woman frowned – _adorably –_ and Maria smothered her own smile.

“I just saw the receptionist pass us,” Maria said emphatically, “If she catches us kissing, she’s going to tell the whole office, and we’ll never hear the end of it.”

Maria pointed her finger towards the mob of people assembled not so far from them, “She’s right there.”

“Where?” Natasha all but mumbled, turning her face to look around them.

It was _exactly_ the reaction Maria had wanted, and she quickly bent forward to peck the redhead’s now-easily-accessible cheek; the move far too swift for anyone to catch.

Natasha’s head whipped towards her, and Maria flashed her a triumphant grin: _gotcha._

“Oh, _hell,_ no,” the Russian muttered, _clearly_ curbing her own smile, “That was _not_ a kiss.”

“It most certainly _was,_ Romanoff,” Maria countered, smirking smugly, “Just not on the _lips.”_

“And since you didn’t mention _where_ to kiss you, specifically,” Maria went on, rather sagely, “I’m going to have to tell you – _very_ respectfully – to _suck it.”_

Natasha all but harrumphed, knowing fully well that she’d lost at her own game, and Maria twirled her car keys on her index finger cockily.

And that metal jangle was the sound of _freaking victory._

But just a few seconds into it, the spinning ring slipped off the tip of Maria’s finger and the keys clattered onto the ground between them, right beside the tyre of the car. They’d fallen nearer to the Russian’s foot, and Natasha rolled her eyes before squatting down to the floor to pick them up.

Once again, the redhead had done _just_ what Maria had expected, and Maria grinned to herself, pleased at how _perfectly_ her plan had played out.

_On to Phase 2…_

Maria quickly lowered herself to the ground too, bringing both of them at eye level. She reached out with one hand to hold Natasha’s arm, ensuring that she stayed in the same crouched position.

The Russian’s gaze flew up to meet hers, her eyebrows furrowed in question: _what are you up to?_

But Maria only gave her a sly grin in response: _wait and watch._

They were hidden from the mob now, with the body of the car beside them blocking anyone’s view, and Maria raised her other hand up to cup her girlfriend’s cheek and draw her in, covering her lips with her own.

And it was a _proper_ kiss this time, with no fear of being seen by the people around them.

Natasha’s hand came up to rest at the nape of Maria’s neck, and her nails brushed lightly over the skin as she deepened the kiss, obviously won over by the manoeuvre(s).

Their lips moved in harmony for a few short – yet _oh-so-sweet –_ seconds before they broke apart, both panting a little.

“Do you count _that_ as a kiss?” Maria whispered, a lopsided grin on her lips.

And the smile breaking out on Natasha’s face couldn’t have been more effervescent, _“I do.”_

Maria widened her own grin before the redhead handed her the keys and they stood up, their eyes never leaving each other’s the whole time.

“So, then, soldier,” Natasha said, her expression turning solemn, “You’ve managed to keep up your end of the bargain –”

 _“Twice,”_ Maria pointed out with a smirk.

 _“– and hence,”_ the Russian continued, struggling to maintain her façade of sincerity, “Taking this Chevrolet Cruze – the _ever_ efficient wingwoman-on-wheels – as witness, I hereby relinquish my third guess.”

 _“‘Wingwoman?’”_ Maria laughed, at both the theatrics and the word, “You know, I always did wonder why a car is referred to as a _‘she.’”_

“Ah, yes, let me educate you,” Natasha replied, her voice dripping with mock wisdom, “A car is – and can _only_ be – a _‘she’_ and here’s why: you have to _get inside it_ to ride it, and not only does it purr back obediently when _turned on,_ it also _takes you where you need to go.”_

“That…” Maria began, and then stopped as the logic sank in, “… actually makes sense, damn…”

Natasha promptly did a totally overdone curtsy and then stuck out her tongue when she straightened herself, the actions roughly translating to: _you’re welcome, and ha, sucker, take that!_

And Maria simply shook her head to herself.

_So dramatic all the time…_

“It’s also _severely_ sexist, though,” Maria pointed out.

“Hey, I _completely_ believe in gender equality,” the Russian replied, ‘Which is why I’d refer to a _motorbike_ as a _‘he.’_ Because you ride with it _between your legs,_ and –”

 _“Okay, okay,”_ Maria all but squeaked, “I get it. You don’t have to explain…”

And the evil laugh that Natasha gave her could have outperformed every Hollywood villain to have ever existed.

 _“Alright, then,”_ Maria huffed eventually, “If you’re done being _wildly inappropriate,_ I’d like to repeat the rules of our game, you know, for everyone’s benefit.”

The redhead bobbed her head exaggeratedly, making some strands of her hair fall onto her face, and Maria’s hand nearly reached forward to shift them aside. But she held back and maintained her solemn look.

“You are to guess the brand of my suit,” Maria stated, as gravely as she could make herself sound, “And you have _two –_ not three – tries to get it correct.”

“Don’t forget, I have my two clues too,” Natasha chimed in.

“Yes, that’s right,” Maria replied, with a grim nod, “And you shall have till the end of the night to make your guesses.”

The Russian promptly gave her a super over-the-top salute, “Sir, yessir.”

Maria couldn’t hold it in this time, and the bubble of laughter escaped her lips, making Natasha join her.

The moment was interrupted when Maria saw a guy approaching them from the corner of her eye. Maria turned to look at the man – the _valet,_ she realised – and then handed him the keys of her car. The guy promptly bowed in deference and then proceeded to drive off with the car.

“Okay, then, let’s go in,” Maria exhaled, facing the redhead again, “And let the game begin.”

Natasha arched up her eyebrow, “The game that _I_ will win.”

And Maria only flashed her a grin, already knowing that from within.

The Russian returned it, and they began making their way towards the entrance of the mansion. They got closer, and Maria could already see glimpses of the elegant interior of the palace.

The _palace,_ which was _way_ beyond their class.

And for a moment, Maria wondered what the _hell_ they were even doing, bringing their shenanigans to a shindig _that_ chic.

“It’s insane,” Natasha chuckled beside her, like she’d guessed Maria’s thoughts, “What we’re doing is plain _insane.”_

Yeah, the game was _ridiculously_ insane. But Maria could hardly bring herself to complain.

Because it was a game against the Widow.

A game she couldn’t possibly forego.

* * *

You know how they call it the Big Fat Indian Wedding…? Well, they’re right.

The decorations, the marriage altar – _the bride and groom_ – were all just so elaborately embellished, Maria’s jaw had almost physically dropped. The entire hall was bustling with people, all lavishly dressed in their traditional attire, and Maria hadn’t ever seen so many _colours_ all at once.

She’d come up with their little duel because she’d thought that the wedding would be boring and long. But she was so woefully wrong.

_That’s only because you’ve never seen an Indian marriage before, Hill…_

Either way, they had spent the first half hour just soaking in the festive energy in the air, trying to grasp the countless rituals and customs that the to-be wedded couple was undergoing.

They’d found themselves a (relatively) secluded corner in the hall, and they were watching the marriage ceremony taking place all the way in the front of the room (the _royal court,_ once upon a time).

“So,” Natasha spoke eventually, looking towards her, “What are your thoughts on marriage?”

And Maria just stared back, dumbfounded by the question. She knew that weddings were infamous for making people get all contemplative about their life choices, but she hadn’t expected the _Black Widow_ to get caught in that web.

To add to her surprise, Maria found the Russian’s features etched with _interest,_ not introspection. And it only made Maria’s insides roil with nervousness.

_Does she know –_

_“Yes,_ Maria,” Natasha said, rolling her eyes, “I know what I’m saying.”

“Now, tell me,” the redhead said, gazing intently at her, “What do you think of marriage?”

_Jesus, we’re having this discussion…_

It had taken them close to two years of being together – and a _lot more_ time _before_ that of being obviously (but _obliviously)_ in love – to finally get to the point of having this conversation.

“Well,” Maria began, her tone a tad cautious, “I think it’s just another word for commitment and responsibility. A word that’s… _lucid._ And lifelong. And _legal,_ of course.”

Natasha nodded, her expression thoughtful, “So, you mean marriage is the next step _._ To make the “lifelong” part of the relationship official…”

 _“No,_ actually,” Maria replied, a little too fast, “I don’t think it’s the _“next step.”_ It’s more of an _alternate path.”_

_A path that one may or may not take._

“Right, makes sense,” the redhead mumbled, her eyes faraway, “Marriage is something you _willingly choose_ to do.”

And only a second later, Natasha laughed dryly, “Which is why I don’t get why some married couples end up feeling so suffocated. How can you be trapped by something, if you weren’t forced into it in the first place…?”

“Is that what you think?” Maria asked, studying her girlfriend’s face carefully, “That marriage can be a cage…?”

Maria kept her expression neutral, and the Russian stared at her for a bit, like she was mulling over the reply. Or like she was trying to wade through Maria’s thoughts.

“I think people _turn_ it into a cage,” Natasha said eventually, “With the lies and the hiding and the broken promises.”

The Russian let out a genuine chuckle, “I mean, take Ahuja’s wife for example: they’re not even married yet, and she’s _already_ keeping stuff from him…”

“What do you mean?” Maria asked, and they turned to face each other fully.

“Oh, it’s so much drama,” Natasha grinning a little, “You’re going to love it.”

The redhead let Maria roll her eyes before speaking again, “So, apparently, just a few days ago, Ahuja’s elder brother – I know his name starts with a “K” too, but I can’t remember, so I’m going to call him Ahuja Senior – paid the bride a visit…”

“His name is _Kunal,”_ Maria informed, “But, sure, go on…”

“His name will be _Ahuja Senior,”_ Natasha countered, a crooked grin on her lips, “At least for the course of this story, it will be.”

And Maria nodded obediently: _yes, Ma’am._

“So, _as I was saying,”_ the Russian resumed, “Ahuja Senior paid his to-be sister-in-law a visit…”

The Russian paused for a bit and widened her orbs; all in the spirit of creating (unnecessary) suspense, Maria knew.

“And what, may I ask, did Ahuja Senior say?” Maria said, her own voice filled with mock severity.

“The usual crap, you know,” Natasha replied, “He told her that it was her last chance to come clean and stay away from his _‘naïve little brother’_ who she’d _‘ensnared’_ with her womanly wiles.”

The Russian added a huff, “It was a vehement – and _vicious,_ from what I know – lecture on how she’s being a gold digger, basically.”

Maria scoffed back, “He does know that she runs her own business, right? Not nearly as lucrative as Ahuja’s, but successful enough to be cited in _Forbes’_ entrepreneurship column…”

“Plus, he’s got to know about the prenup,” Maria added, “Everyone’s been talking about it at the office. They’re all surprised that the bride didn’t lay claim on any part of Ahuja’s business empire, choosing to only keep her share on her husband’s _personal_ ancestral inheritance.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Natasha nodded, “Her addition to that family doesn’t affect the company in any way, actually. Ahuja might be having the throne right now, but until he produces – or _chooses –_ an heir, his elder brother still remains second in line.”

“Which is only the most _normal_ rule ever,” the redhead added immediately, and Maria nodded in agreement.

_It’s all standard rich-people’s heritage customs._

“Right,” Maria murmured, “It makes no sense for him to get pissed at the bride…”

“And yet, the guy went full-on _ballistic,”_ Natasha said, “I’m told that he apparently went on to huff and puff about how he _‘doesn’t support this nonsense’ –_ the _marriage,_ that is – and how he _‘won’t be a part of it.’”_

 _Ah,_ Maria mused, _no wonder he isn’t present at his only-brother’s wedding…_

“And then I realised that it might not have been _concern,”_ the redhead said, “It was probably just plain old _jealousy.”_

“You see,” Natasha continued, “Not only did the younger brother snag the reins of the company – _deservedly,_ might I add – but he also managed to get himself a bomb-ass wife. While our poor senior bro twiddles his thumbs, all day – _and night –_ long…”

Maria nodded in understanding, “Right, the kid brother’s more successful –”

“In the _boardroom_ and _bedroom_ department,” the redhead piped up, as if she’d been holding that in for a while.

“– _and so,”_ Maria continued, trying not to laugh at the cheeky quip, “Mr Black Sheep had to vent his frustration…”

_And the bride-to-be couldn’t be a more hapless prey._

The Russian snickered at that, “Nice name: ‘Black Sheep.’ The initials are _literally_ B.S.”

And Maria _did_ laugh this time, impressed – for the nth time – by her girlfriend’s razor-sharp wit.

“Anyway, we’re digressing,” Natasha said, “The point is that _all_ _that_ happened, and Ahuja has _no clue_ about it.”

The Russian let out a low growl before speaking again, “He has no clue that the woman he’s marrying was insulted – _outright threatened –_ by his own elder brother.”

“Because she never told him,” Maria murmured, voicing the obvious.

“It’s understandable, you know,” Maria said after a bit, “She probably just doesn’t want to be the cause of any rift in her new family. That kind of stuff is important. Specially in this part of the world.”

 _“Or,”_ Maria added just a second later, “She doesn’t want to get on the wrong side of her brother-in-law by ratting him out.”

Natasha chuckled roughly, “Well, that ship has already sailed…”

They stayed silent for a brief stretch of time, mulling over the whole conversation thus far. Maria’s gaze drifted away for a bit before the question hit her.

“How do you even know all this anyway?” Maria asked, looking at the redhead again.

“We had somewhat of a runaway-bride situation earlier this morning,” Natasha answered.

“I saw her hovering outside Ahuja’s office,” the redhead explained, “She was _freaked_ out of her wits, so I asked her if she was fine. And it was like hitting a piñata: everything inside just came tumbling out.”

“Wait, is that where you were the whole day?” Maria asked, her eyes widening with surprise, _“Calming the bride?”_

It just didn’t seem like something the Russian would do.

But then again, it wasn’t really out of character. Because underneath all that too-cool-to-give-a-crap insouciance, Natasha _cared._ About people and their problems. The Russian would do it even though she didn’t want to.

It was one of the things that had fascinated Maria, when she’d first met the Widow; her _concern._ Her _compassion._ It was always covert, yet always copious.

It was Natasha’s strength. And her flaw.

Her _fatal_ flaw.

Not the fact that she cared. Or _how much_ she cared _._ It was the fact that she tried to fight that instinct.

_Okay, are you done, Hill? Are you done over-analysing the Widow?_

She’d never get out of that web. But Maria could hardly help it; she had a girlfriend who just never stopped amazing her…

“Yeah,” Natasha answered, and Maria’s focus finally returned, “I hitched a ride here with one of the cousins from the bridal party.”

“But _thank you,”_ Natasha exclaimed sarcastically, scoffing a little and rolling her eyes, “For _finally_ asking.”

“And you’re _welcome,”_ the Russian added haughtily, “For, you know, _making this wedding happen.”_

“Exaggeration, much?” Maria huffed, raising an eyebrow.

Natasha stuck out her tongue before speaking again, “So, yeah, she told me everything and then asked _me_ what she should do. Whether she should tell Ahuja – whether she should _hide it from her husband –_ or no.”

“And what did you say to her?” Maria asked immediately.

The Russian scoffed back, “That _the_ _Widow_ is hardly someone to come to for _marriage_ advice.”

“Come on, Nat,” Maria replied, her curiosity peaking, “That’s not what you told her…”

The shorter woman pursed her lips for a bit, her orbs flickering a little. And Maria understood her hesitation.

_She’s nervous. About me judging her “advice.”_

“I told her to do what she thought was best,” Natasha said eventually, her voice small, “Told her that if they love each other, it won’t matter either way…”

And Maria didn’t realise she was smiling until the redhead’s expression relaxed. It was a strategic suggestion, but it was also sincere. And _mature._

“You know what,” Maria said, her own tone soft, “That’s exactly what _I_ told _Ahuja_ yesterday…”

Natasha gawked at her for a few seconds, and then she let out an offended gasp.

“Maria Hill,” the Russian growled, “You’ve been in possession of gossip about the _hottest_ CEO in India, and you’ve kept it from me for more than _24 hours…”_

Maria rolled her eyes at the theatrics, “You done or what?”

 _“‘You done or what,’”_ Natasha repeated, and then giggled a little, “That’s in the top 10 things Ahuja’s wife will say to him on their wedding night.”

And Maria simply couldn’t hold back her own chuckle; amused, as always, by her girlfriend’s never-ending quips.

 _“Nailed it!”_ the Russian all but whooped, pumping her fist in the air.

And this time, Maria flashed her a shrewd smirk, “That’s in the top 10 things _Ahuja_ will say to his _wife_ on their wedding night.”

“Damn, nicely done,” Natasha chuckled back appreciatively.

And Maria widened her own grin, “That’s _hopefully_ in the top 10 things Ahuja and his wife will say to _each other_ on their wedding night.”

And they both laughed heartily at their clever (yet crass) back-and-forth.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Maria exhaled eventually, “How about I begin my story now?”

The redhead ushered her to continue with a flourish: _aye, Ma’am._

Maria shook her head fondly before beginning, “It goes back to when I’d gone to Ahuja with the first embezzler that we’d caught…”

It took her a while, but Natasha recalled it soon enough, “The ex-employee, right? The guy who’d been siphoning money off the firm even after being fired about two years ago?”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Maria nodded, “The guy’s all kinds of a tech whiz. He was an accounts specialist back when he was working at Ahuja Enterprises, so he knew how the company managed their liquid capital.”

“So,” Maria sighed before continuing, “He’d been periodically taking small – seemingly insignificant – chunks of the money. From the funds for _different_ projects each time, making it hard to catch.”

The Russian hummed thoughtfully, “Classic salami slicing…”

“Yeah, but that’s _not_ the most interesting part,” Maria said, rather emphatically, “Turns out, the man isn’t just an ex-employee, he’s also the ex- _boyfriend._ Of Ahuja’s _current fiancée.”_

 _“Damn,”_ Natasha murmured, her eyes widening, “Shit just got real…”

 _“In fact,”_ Maria added, “That’s how Ahuja _met_ his wife. I don’t know all the details, but she’s the one who got Ahuja to sack her then-boyfriend, around two years ago.”

“The guy had been involved in some illegal dealings using the company’s resources,” Maria explained, “And she’d gone to Ahuja with the information she had, because she was sick of being under his thumb.”

“Right, right,” the Russian nodded, “Earlier today, when we were talking, she did mention the ex briefly. But she didn’t tell me that he used to _work for_ Ahuja…”

“Yeah, if I were her, I wouldn’t disclose that bit of my past either,” Maria muttered, “Specially not to a _present employee,_ as she thinks you are.”

“Also, did she mention the ex’s name?” Maria mumbled, her brows knitting together in thought, “I can’t seem to recall it…”

And Natasha immediately grinned back haughtily, “Oh, so _the_ Hard-ass Hill forgets names too...?”

Maria shook her head sheepishly, “It’s rather long and hard –”

“Well, isn’t that how they like it?” the Russian cut her off, that diabolical smirk on her lips, _“‘Long and hard?’”_

Maria pinched the bridge of her nose, desperately hoping that her hand was hiding her grin.

_The woman is a freaking sorceress. Who breaths out sex-puns._

The most _juvenile_ (yet witty-as-hell) ones.

 _“The name,_ Romanoff,” Maria spoke, stretching the words as if she were speaking to a child, “The ex’s _name_ is long. And hard _to say.”_

Maria only remembered that it was one of _those_ Indian names. The kind that only _Indians_ could pronounce correctly.

“Hard for _you,_ maybe,” Natasha scoffed cockily, “With your primitive American voice box. Us Russians, though? We’re a much _superior_ species, with –”

“Hey, Nat?” Maria stopped her, rolling her eyes, “Would you just, you know… _answer the goddamn question?”_

And the Russian laughed back triumphantly, enjoying Maria’s exasperation.

 _God,_ the woman freaking _put_ the _“in”_ in the _“incorrigible.”_

_Uh, I think we said that already._

Oh, yeah? Well, then, she put the _“in”_ in the _“insufferable”_ too.

 _“No,”_ Natasha said after a bit, “As in, no, the bride didn’t tell me the ex’s name, and I didn’t ask either. She just mentioned how _toxic_ that relationship had been, and how she was _‘incredibly lucky’_ to have found Ahuja.”

Maria nodded back, and then waved a hand dismissively, “Anyway, the backstory’s not even relevant. We still haven’t got to the interesting part.”

“So, a week ago,” Maria continued, “When I told Ahuja about the guy’s _latest_ fraud, Ahuja immediately sicced the cops on him.”

“But he – the ex – must’ve gotten a bail or something,” Maria went on, “Because he was _in Ahuja’s cabin_ yesterday. Raving and ranting about how he wants _‘the love of his life back’_ and how he hasn’t _‘thought of anything else for the past two years.’”_

The Russian immediately huffed; her expression devoid of all the cheekiness from just a minute ago.

“That’s crazy talk,” Natasha muttered, her tone utterly miffed, _“He’s_ the one who’d dumped her, for going behind his back.”

 _“Plus,”_ the Russian added emphatically, “She’s going to be Ahuja’s _wife_ now. You can’t just up and decide that you want someone back _one day_ before their marriage…”

Maria scoffed just as irately, “You can if you’re an obsessed maniac.”

“You should’ve heard him, Nat,” Maria continued, “He sounded so… _unhinged._ I was right there in the room, but he didn’t seem to care as he went on arguing with Ahuja.”

Maria cringed at the memory, “Things got so heated that at one point, I thought he was going to _attack_ Ahuja. And he probably _would have_ , if I hadn’t called for the security.”

“It had all happened after the office hours,” Maria added, “I’d simply been there by chance, because my meeting with Ahuja had gotten delayed. Or else, well, I have no idea just how far stuff would’ve escalated.”

“Right,” Natasha nodded, “And Ahuja must’ve told you to keep the whole fiasco under wraps...”

“Yeah,” Maria replied, “But he was a very confused, very _pissed off_ mess after the whole encounter. And since _I_ was the sole witness of it all, he ended up talking to me about it.”

“And I get his point,” Maria went on, “It’s not the most casual thing to walk up to your wife-to-be and go: “Hey, so, you remember the psycho you left for me? The one who stole several million rupees from me and made your life a living hell? Yeah, he’s back and he wants _you_ back.” Definitely not _one day_ before your marriage.”

“That kind of talk is pointless,” Maria added, “But every kind of _agonising_. And you wouldn’t want your marriage to _begin_ that way...”

“So, yeah,” Maria exhaled, “Ahuja wanted an opinion. On whether he should tell his fiancée about it.”

Natasha shook her head deprecatingly, grumbling under her breath, “And then you – _just like me –_ gave him the _vaguest_ advice ever.”

Maria knitted her forehead in confusion, “Why do you say that?”

“Because it gave them the green-light to just chicken out,” the Russian answered.

“They _clearly_ haven’t told each other,” the redhead went on, jutting her chin towards the wedding altar, “I mean, _look_ at them. They wouldn’t be grinning blithely like that if they had…”

“They’re about to share a _life_ together,” Natasha muttered, “And they’re too scared of dealing with each other’s reactions when it comes to difficult topics…”

Maria fell silent at that, surprised by the vehemence in the shorter woman’s voice. The two of them paused for a bit and Maria followed the redhead’s gaze to look towards the couple in question.

Ahuja and his fiancée were seated cross-legged in front of the sacrificial fire, and the priest was still instructing them on the religious rituals. It’s tedious, Maria realised; an Indian marriage. But the couple looked happy as ever, their smiles brighter than the flames from the pyre.

Now, Maria was someone who read people for a living, and it was evident that _these_ were two people madly in love.

_Who are only trying to protect each other. From getting hurt._

“It’s not about _being scared,_ Nat,” Maria murmured after a bit, “Sometimes, you just don’t want to _cause any pain_. Especially when it’s so… _unnecessary.”_

“And what you said earlier,” Maria went on, “About married couples feeling suffocated by the lies and the hiding. It’s because they focus on _what_ is being hidden _,_ and not _why.”_

Natasha turned to face her, “So, according to you, as long as the _reason_ is noble, you can lie to your partner…?”

“What I’m _saying,”_ Maria said, cautious of her words, “Is that sometimes, sharing details _isn’t required,_ if you’re able to solve the problem _on_ _your own.”_

The Russian thinned her lips into a line, as if she wanted to refute the logic, but knew that _she_ believed in it just as much.

“Marriage brings in a lot of expectations, Nat,” Maria sighed, “To say more. _Do_ more. _Be_ more.”

“And maybe they’re justified,” Maria went on, “I wouldn’t know, I’m no expert. And maybe it’s the disappointment of those expectations not being met that creates the bitterness.”

“The expectations _are_ justified, Maria,” Natasha replied, “You wouldn’t choose to get married if you didn’t want things to change.”

“Yeah, so you’ve got to _tell_ that to your partner,” Maria retorted immediately, “You’ve got to tell them what you want. You can’t expect them to magically know.”

The Russian gave her a grim smile, “Oh, so _now_ you’re an advocate for communication in a relationship…”

And it was Maria’s turn to purse her lips. She’d contradicted her own rationale, and she needed to regroup to form a sound reply.

But Natasha’s eyes were still gentle – the curiosity in them _calm,_ not _caustic –_ and Maria felt herself relax a little. This wasn’t a fight; it was a _constructive conflict,_ the way it usually was with them.

They preferred fighting _with_ each other. As in, side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder. Preferred fighting _for_ each other. Whenever life threw crap at them.

Maria’s mind suddenly went back to all of their time together, and it struck her; just how _wrong_ she was.

“You’re right, Nat,” Maria murmured, “You might be able to handle your issues yourself, but you still have to talk to your partner.”

“You’ve got to give them the chance to help you,” Maria added, “It’s their _right,_ not just their _duty._ At least _in marriage,_ it is…”

She remembered all those countless ops when they’d saved each other’s asses, literally and figuratively. Those missions had been _significantly_ less fucked-up – _and_ _so much more fun –_ because they’d been through them together.

_Yeah, that’s the key word, really. Together._

No matter what the weather.

Ending her musing, Maria looked towards the Russian, and she found Natasha’s lips curved up in a genuine smile.

“You aren’t entirely wrong either, Maria,” the redhead began, “You can’t always share everything with your partner. It would be crazy to even expect that.”

Natasha sighed softly before continuing, “There are situations when you can’t – you _don’t_ – involve your partner. For _their_ sake.”

“And you know well enough that it’s true,” the redhead said, “Especially in our world.”

 _Our world,_ Maria mused, _where even the secrets have secrets._

Maria nodded back, “Maybe then the key is to find the perfect balance. To know when it’s time to speak. And to know how to read the silence.”

“Yeah,” Natasha smiled, “Maybe it is.”

“You know,” the redhead went on, “Happy couples say that marriage is about giving and forgiving. Bitter ones feel it’s about getting and forgetting.”

“But I think _neither_ are correct,” Natasha said, her gaze softening.

“I think marriage is about _giving_ and _getting,”_ the redhead whispered, “And _forgiving_ and _forgetting.”_

And Maria couldn’t hold back her own smile, _pleasantly_ surprised – and _thoroughly_ impressed – by her girlfriend’s sagacity. Unknowing, but not unnerving.

_So much for calling her juvenile…_

“Why, those are wise words, Professor Romanoff,” Maria replied, the response teasing but her grin appeasing.

 _“‘Professor,’_ huh?” Natasha scoffed, just as playfully, “I’ll take it. Prof. Natasha Romanoff, PhD in _‘Marry-time’_ Studies…”

It was probably the _lamest_ pun to ever exist, but Maria found herself chuckling along with the Russian.

She was actually _grateful_ for the quip. Because the atmosphere had suddenly gotten a little too sombre, with all the marriage-talk. And Maria wasn’t sure what else the Widow would manage to finagle out of her, if they stayed on the topic.

 _“Anyway,”_ Maria said, clearing her throat discreetly, _“That_ just got _real_ o’ clock…”

“And speaking of the _clock,”_ Maria added soon enough, a smirk on her lips, _“Yours_ is ticking. Hope you haven’t forgotten about our game…”

She meant their _guess-the-brand_ challenge.

Maria bent down a little, bringing their faces closer, and flashed the shorter woman a shrewd smile.

“I’ve promised you one wish, no strings attached,” Maria whispered, rather theatrically, “That kind of a prize has _got_ to be unmatched…”

Natasha’s eyes lit up immediately, that evil – _endearingly_ evil – glimmer back in the emeralds.

“When, oh _when_ will you realise,” the redhead drawled, just as exaggeratedly, “That the game is _never_ about the prize.”

“It’s the look in your eyes,” the Russian murmured, grinning brightly, “When I win, they’ll be _bluer_ than the skies…”

And Maria just had to chuckle in response. The colour – all shades of it, really – was not-at-all-subtly Natasha’s favourite, and Maria had never quite understood why.

(She kind of _had,_ but it would be too arrogant to actually believe _that_ was the reason.)

_I’ll never know why she loves my eyes so much…_

“You don’t have to flirt, you know,” Maria mumbled, ducking her head coyly, “I’m already your girlfriend.”

 _“Actually,_ you’re my _colleague_ right now,” the Russian said, making Maria look up, “We’re _employees_ , remember?”

“So, _technically,”_ Natasha added, grinning deviously, “I can flirt all I want. With _whoever_ I want.”

The words – and that impudent smirk – were supposed to be provoking. But the redhead’s eyes… they were _riveted_ to Maria’s. Like they were the only ones in the whole room. They had no intention of even _glancing_ elsewhere.

And they couldn’t _possibly_ be more filled with love.

Maria quickly swept her gaze around, ensuring that no one was looking at them, and then brought a hand up, reaching for the belt on Natasha’s dress. And the redhead froze at the move, her own eyes darting around in warning.

But Maria simply went ahead with her task, adjusting the belt to bring its buckle back to the centre. And then, she slid the same hand along the Russian’s midsection to grab her waist, and gave it a slow, subtle, _sensuous_ squeeze.

And Natasha’s breath inevitably hitched.

“If you want to flirt with anybody else, that’d be alright,” Maria whispered, a lopsided grin on her lips.

And Natasha promptly smiled back, “It won’t matter, because _you’re_ the one I’m going home with tonight.”

The Russian had (intentionally?) completed the rhyme, and they widened their grins at the same time, the reality around them slowing down for a few blissfully long seconds.

 _“Right,”_ Maria said eventually, leaving the redhead’s hip, “Back to our game, now.”

“So, go on,” Maria exhaled, taking a step back rather theatrically, “Make your first guess…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Natasha huffed, “Give me some time to think, would you? There’s only about _infinite_ brands out there, and I have just two tries.”

The Russian ran her gaze over Maria’s figure, her forehead furrowed in concentration, as if she was trying to make Maria’s pantsuit _tell_ her the answer.

It had to be the _silliest_ game in the history of mankind. Specially so because they were _freaking agents._ But the redhead still looked so adorably distressed at the challenge, Maria’s heart melted all but inadvertently.

“Take your time, Nat, it’s only fair,” Maria whispered, the softest smile on her lips, “Neither of us is going anywhere…”

* * *

“Mango.”

It was the first word that Natasha had said ever since she’d put her thinking face – her _game_ face _–_ on.

There were still some rituals left for the marriage ceremony to be complete, but they’d noticed the other guests going ahead and having dinner, and they’d followed suit. They were done with the main course, and they were currently heading towards the dessert section.

And they’d just reached there when Natasha had made her first guess. And it was an _intelligent_ one, considering that the brand was quite popular out here.

“Wrong answer,” Maria replied smugly, “That leaves just one try.”

But Natasha smirked back wickedly, “Oh, that wasn’t a guess…”

“I wasn’t referring to the _fashion company,”_ the Russian clarified, her grin slick and crafty, “I was talking about the _flavour._ Of the _pudding._ I heard some of the guests say that _mango_ is better than strawberry.”

Maria followed the redhead’s gaze to look at the table beside them, and she found the damn desserts – _in_ said flavours – staring back at her.

Natasha batted her eyelashes in (faux) innocence, “But _thank you,_ for crossing one brand off the list…”

_Goddamned smartass._

Maria only hung her head and shook it, _endeared_ by the redhead’s non-trick trick.

Not that she was going to let the Widow know that, though.

Maria reached for one of the bowls of pudding on the table – choosing the goddamn mango flavour – and took a deliberate bite, facing her girlfriend again.

“Not sure if I really helped you, though,” Maria replied, a crooked grin on her lips, “Because, as I recall, there’s only, what, _infinite_ brands out there.”

Maria bent down a little, an eyebrow cocked up, “And correct me if I’m wrong, Professor, but infinity minus one is _still_ infinity…”

The references were much too recent for Natasha to forget, and she gnashed her teeth audibly. And Maria took comfort in the fact that the shit-eating smirk was wiped off the shorter woman’s face.

 _“Fine,”_ Natasha sighed, rolling her eyes, “Give me my first clue.”

And Maria felt a jolt of excitement course through her. It was one of those few _(too_ few, really) moments when _she_ had power over the Widow.

“Okay, then,” Maria spoke, dusting the imaginary lint off the lapel of her blazer, “The brand is named after its designer – _obviously –_ and it has _two words._ ”

The Russian nodded absently for a bit, lost deep in her thoughts. As though _this_ was the most complicated problem she’d ever had to solve.

And she was just about to speak when they heard someone clear their throat rather loudly. They turned to look behind and realised that they’d been holding up the line all this while. Maria gave the guests queueing after them an apologetic smile before scurrying away from the dessert section, dragging Natasha with her.

They returned to the hall and walked up to their earlier spot, and Maria propped herself against the wall beside her. She was still carrying her bowl of pudding with her, and she reached for the spoon, gathering some of the custard in it.

And Maria had just brought it near her mouth when Natasha let out a small squeak in front her. Maria looked up at the woman, and she found the redhead eyeing the pudding in the spoon intently. _Longingly._ And Maria realised that the Russian hadn’t been able to get any dessert for _herself,_ thanks to their hurried fleeing act.

Natasha shifted her gaze up and raised her eyebrows, the emeralds brimming with hope: _pretty please…?_

And the sight was the _definition_ of cute.

Maria let out an exaggerated sigh, placed the spoon back into the bowl, and thrust it towards the Russian.

And the smile that broke out on Natasha’s face was _sweeter_ than that pudding could ever be.

The redhead grabbed the bowl with the eagerness of a child, the green orbs gleaming with glee. And Maria shook her head, despite how _adorable_ her girlfriend looked.

“Always making me dance to your tunes, aren’t you?” Maria grumbled, watching (fondly) as the Russian put a spoonful of the pudding into her mouth.

Natasha licked her lips rather suggestively, “You’ll be getting your share of dessert too, you know…”

 _“… later tonight,”_ the Russian finished, her voice a sultry whisper.

The redhead threw in a wink, and Maria scoffed at the complete lack of modesty.

Natasha took a few more bites of the delicacy – her expression each time having no semblance of decency – and then offered a spoonful to Maria, bringing it up near Maria’s lips. Maria eyed the woman’s raised hand for a couple of seconds, and then swatted it aside gently.

“I don’t need your _‘dessert,’”_ Maria huffed, smirking back, “I believe the taste of _victory_ is much better…”

And Natasha promptly schooled her features into that _genius-at-work_ look, her eyes moving down to study Maria’s attire, for the millionth time that night.

“Ralph Lauren,” the Russian stated, looking up, “You love that brand. You’ve got, what, 4 hoodies back at home…?”

“Plus, you choose to go for _American_ designers most of the time,” Natasha muttered, rolling her eyes, and then wrinkling her nose in disgust.

“It’s Ralph Lauren, isn’t it?” the Russian brandished the spoon in the air, its tip pointing at Maria.

_Another intelligent guess._

“It _is…”_ Maria whispered, giving her girlfriend a wide smile.

And Maria waited just the right amount of seconds before finishing, _“… not.”_

She morphed her grin into a roguish smirk, and Russian all but growled frustratedly, stabbing the spoon back into the bowl of custard.

“And that’s one down, one to go,” Maria added, as smug as she could possibly be.

 _“Dammit,”_ Natasha grumbled, absently shoving another spoonful of the pudding into her mouth.

Maria chuckled at how endearingly tensed her girlfriend looked, “Would you like to have the second clue?”

The Russian let out an exasperated huff, “Yes, please…”

And Maria smiled shrewdly, rubbing her palms together like it was going to be some kind of a prophetic reveal.

“Okay, then, Romanoff,” Maria exhaled, still grinning, “Here’s your final clue: _you’re looking at it.”_

And Natasha blinked blankly, her face perfectly deadpan.

“The hell is that even supposed to mean?” the Russian muttered.

Maria gave her a rather presidential shrug, “It means what it means.”

Natasha rolled her eyes so hard, Maria thought they’d fall out of their sockets. And she could barely suppress the bubble of laughter rising in her throat.

“I can’t believe it’s taking you so long to figure it out,” Maria chuckled, a sly smile on her lips.

“Maybe, I _am_ looking at this the wrong way,” Natasha mumbled, taking a step back, “Maybe I just need a different angle…”

The Russian continued running her eyes up and down Maria’s figure, her brows knitted together as she focused on her puzzle. Natasha kept walking back, her head cocked sideways even as she took another bite of her pudding.

And she rammed right into a steward crossing the path behind her.

The redhead tripped and stumbled backwards, and Maria rushed ahead to her girlfriend’s aid. Natasha’s hand immediately flew out to catch the bowl of dessert that had slipped her hold – _priorities, much?_ – while Maria grabbed the redhead’s other arm, stabilising her and then pulling her towards herself.

The man behind Natasha staggered a little too, but he managed to steady himself without dropping the gift box that he was carrying in his hands. He adjusted his turban – the kind that the rest of the event staff had to wear – and then stalked off, cursing under his breath.

The guy had seemed familiar, for some reason, but Maria couldn’t place him, with the thick beard lining his cheeks. Moreover, Maria’s gaze had been more drawn to the box he’d been holding – its gift-wrapping paper the most _unsightly_ and un-wedding-like shade of brown – than his face, so she couldn’t have identified him either way.

_Must’ve seen him around in the hall earlier…_

A soft sigh from Natasha made Maria end her musing. She looked back at the shorter woman, and Natasha had the most _enchanting_ smile on her lips, for some reason.

“You say you want the taste of victory,” the redhead murmured, her eyes glimmering, “And yet, you can’t seem to let me fall, one way or the other…”

 _You won’t fall,_ Maria wanted to say, _not while I’m still standing._

Besides, it wasn’t even a big deal. Because this was the _Widow_ in question. And she _didn’t fall._ In _any_ way. (Except, you know, _in love)._

But the emeralds were still soft and sparkling as their gazes locked, and Maria just had to smile back.

“I was going for the _dessert,_ actually,” Maria smirked, her gaze briefly flitting down to the bowl in the Russian’s hand.

She expected a huff from her girlfriend, but Natasha’s eyes mellowed even more, somehow, as if she’d heard the unsaid words.

“Well, in that case,” the redhead whispered, her grin tender, “You should know that the _dessert_ sure is flattered. That you didn’t let it fall…”

“Let the _dessert_ know, then,” Maria replied, her own smile gentle, “That it’s only allowed to fall _for me.”_

And Natasha flashed her the most breath-taking smile, her eyes shining with affection.

“I’ve got to say, Hill,” the Russian said, her grin soon turning cheeky, “I’m _loving_ the _‘sweet-talk.’”_

The pun was perfect, as always, and Maria chuckled even as she shook her head, charmed (and disarmed) by her girlfriend’s wit.

The moment was cut short when Natasha’s eyes shifted down.

Maria followed the redhead’s gaze and they found themselves staring back a little girl. The skinny kid didn’t look older than six, and she was cute, with big brown owl eyes on her tiny face. The hazel orbs were studying Natasha, a supremely _bored_ look on the child’s face, as though she was done with the whole world already.

“The bride wants to see you,” the girl said, tugging at the material of Natasha’s jumpsuit, the Indian accent making the child sound even more solemn than she looked.

The Russian glanced towards Maria for a bit, the similar expression of surprise on her face.

“You sure about that, kid?” Natasha said, looking down at the girl again, “That the bride wants to see _me?”_

The child heaved her shoulders in what was surely intended to be a _full-body_ eye-roll.

“Of course, I’m sure,” the girl sighed (do kids that young even know _how to_ sigh?) exasperatedly, “She meant _you:_ red hair, green eyes…”

The child turned to look at Maria, tilting her head up even more, “… talking to a super-thin, _freakishly_ -tall woman.”

And Maria sputtered out a somewhat offended huff.

_Damn, the kids out here really are smart…_

And Natasha – the _traitor_ of a girlfriend – laughed outright, “Is that really what the bride said?”

“Nope,” the girl replied, a shy-but-still-somehow-smug grin on her lips, “She just told me to find the Americans.”

And it was Natasha’s turn let out an outraged gasp.

“Well, you tell her that I’m _Russian,”_ the redhead replied, as haughtily as she could without scaring the child.

But the girl scoffed – could she even know the meaning of that word? – cockily, “You tell her that _yourself.”_

With that, the kid simply walked away, blending into the crowd within seconds, leaving behind a _visibly_ shocked Natasha.

And Maria didn’t bother curbing her laughter, “Well, the Widow _finally_ finds her match…”

“In a freaking _child,”_ Natasha chuckled breathlessly, the look of bewilderment taking a while to fade.

They laughed together for a bit, shaking their heads at the sheer _guts_ of the pipsqueak.

“Anyway,” Maria exhaled once they’d settled down, “You should go meet the bride now. Your orders were quite explicit.”

Natasha chuckled a little again, “Yeah, I should.”

They turned to look towards the marriage altar, but as expected, the bride and groom were no longer there. Maria figured that they must have gone to change their outfits – for the reception that was to be held soon – and she sighed inwardly.

_Lovely. So, she has to –_

“Come with me?” Natasha said, facing Maria again, her lips curved up in a small smile.

 _Right, then,_ we _have to snoop around this castle in search of the bride._

Couldn’t be so bad, now, could it?

“It’s a good chance to sneak away from the mob,” the Russian went on, as if she even needed to persuade Maria some more.

“We could find an empty room in this palace,” Natasha purred, an eyebrow arched up suggestively, “And then –”

“And then I’ll _‘get my share of dessert?’”_ Maria supplied, smirking back.

The Russian bit her lower lip before speaking, “And _I_ will get to work on my second clue, and, you know, look at you. _Properly_ look at you.”

“It’ll be a win-win,” Natasha added, her voice a husky drawl, “For both _you_ and me…”

_Of course, how clichéd. Propositioning me at a wedding…_

And Maria could hardly hold back her growl, _“Minx.”_

And the Widow wasted no time in laughing smugly at her own victory.

“By the way,” Maria said, “Since you brought that up yourself, let me remind you that you don’t get any more hints.”

“So, keep looking at me,” Maria repeated the clue, “And you’ll figure it out.”

She waved a hand to motion to her outfit – to her body – for further emphasis.

Honestly, Maria was _waiting_ for the Russian to win. Because proud was the _best_ look on Natasha. (Second only to her post-sex look, of course).

(Then again, the two weren’t all that different.)

The redhead gazed at her rather strangely, as if she was trying to unscramble the words (and Maria’s eagerness), and Maria smiled back, desperately hoping that her face wasn’t giving anything away.

Natasha eventually blew out a low sigh, “Okay, then, we should get going now.”

_Right. The call of “duty.”_

Maria nodded in response, and they began making their way towards the large staircase in the hall, leading up to the rooms on the upper storeys. Hopefully, they’d find the newlywed bride soon enough.

“This might take a while,” the Russian said, giving her a side glance as they walked “So I propose a pause in our little bet.”

Maria groaned internally, not knowing how much time this interruption was going to take.

“Sure,” Maria gave her girlfriend a small grin, “Whatever the bride wants, the bride should get.”

And she didn’t realise she’d finished the rhyme until Natasha flashed her a blinding smile.

_You know what, maybe it’ll be worth my while._

* * *

Oh, it was so _not_ worth Maria’s while.

She felt as though she was being _punished,_ actually _._ Like you know when a teacher makes her students stand out of the class?

That’s _exactly_ what Maria was doing. _Had been_ doing, actually, for the past 10 minutes now. Standing outside some room on the 2nd storey – which was a _lot_ higher up than normal, considering the sheer size of this mansion – and waiting for the Russian to be done with her little girl-talk.

The bride had _(very firmly)_ insisted that she wanted to see _just_ Natasha, and so Maria had been banished – the door had _literally_ been shut in her face – and told to stay outside, like some kind of a sentry.

_Well, I did say it myself. Whatever the bride wants, the bride should get._

The chambers on the storey (only about _infinite_ of them) were intended to be green rooms of sorts, probably, and the floor was cordoned off to only allow the families of the bride and groom _(and_ certain guests, clearly).

Said families must have been _in_ those rooms with the respective newlyweds, because Maria had the whole corridor free to herself at the moment. She was pacing along the pathway, utterly bored out of her mind, and she must have easily completed about _20 rounds_ before something interesting happened. She caught the movement in the corner of her eye, and she turned to look at it.

At the foot of the staircase, several yards down the passageway, there was a kid – a boy, this time – just entering the corridor. The child was carrying a gift box – the thing was so big, Maria doubted the kid could even see where he was walking over the top edge of the box – as he stumbled, and Maria briskly walked over to him.

_What is it with people using children to run their errands…?_

Maria caught the box and the kid right when he faltered in his step. The boy was hardly even fazed and he quickly regrouped, but Maria struggled a little herself, not expecting the box to be as heavy as it was. The kid let out a relieved sigh, probably at being freed of the weight, and then smiled at Maria gratefully.

“Hi, Miss,” the boy said, and then pointed towards the box, “That’s a gift for the groom. Could you please keep that in Uncle Karan’s room for me?”

And before Maria could even ask the child _which one_ was Ahuja’s room, the kid wheeled around and scampered back the way he’d come.

The boy stopped just as he reached the staircase and turned around, a toothy grin on his lips, “Thank you!”

And then the child scrammed, without even waiting for a reply.

_Way to go, Hill. You’re on a roll tonight, letting just about every kid wrap you around their little fingers…_

Maria shook her head and looked down at the box in her hands. And she found herself looking at the eerily familiar dirty-brown gift-wrapping paper – its texture coarse and flaky, now that she was holding it – from just earlier that night.

Maria recalled it instantly: the box that the steward from before had been carrying, down in the marriage hall.

 _This_ box was much bigger than that one, but she was almost entirely sure that both had the exact same kind of gift-wrapping papers. 

_It can’t be a coincidence, can it?_

In a moment of instinct – of pure _paranoia –_ Maria reached for the tape holding the paper together and pulled it apart, to take a look at the gift inside.

And for once, Maria wished she’d been wrong.

She bit down a string of profanities and swept her gaze around, checking that no one had seen her. Or the box.

Satisfied that she was alone, Maria lowered the torn flap of the paper, covering the contents, and then began walking towards the staircase, clutching the box firmly. She bounded up the steps, taking them two at a time, her mind a frenzy of thoughts.

_Un-fucking-believable…_

Maria reached the terrace, just two storeys higher, and she wrenched open the gate, her eyes immediately scanning the huge open-air _courtyard_ of a deck. Her bangs fluttered in the late evening breeze as she whipped her head around.

Maria found the utilities cabinet and she jogged up to it, praying that it would contain the stuff she’d need. Setting the box down on the ground, she rummaged through the cabinet, gathering whatever was required and placing it beside the box.

Maria then picked up the box once again, ripping off the gift-wrapping paper fully. And she was still in the middle of doing that when her phone vibrated in the pocket of her pants. Maria balanced the box in one hand and then pulled out the device to accept the call. Cradling the phone between her cheek and shoulder, Maria held the box with both hands again, turning it around a little to examine it properly.

And Natasha was already speaking at the other end, _“You will not believe_ what I have in my hand right now.”

And Maria had the insane urge to laugh.

_I really, really doubt that…_

“Uh, yeah, Natasha, I’m kind of in the middle of something,” Maria muttered into the phone, her eyes fixed on the box she was holding.

“Yeah, where’d you go off?” Natasha replied, the smile evident in her voice, “What, did you really go searching for an empty room?”

“And if you’ve found one _,_ then that’s _great,”_ the Russian chuckled a little, “Because –”

“I’m actually on the terrace,” Maria cut her off, the stress building with every passing second.

“Oh, okay,” Natasha replied, “The view must be amazing from up there, right? Hold on, I’m coming over –”

 _“No!”_ Maria snapped, and then willed her voice to remain relaxed.

“You, uh…” Maria rasped, her throat suddenly dry, “You should go back to the main hall. I’ll be done here in a few minutes.”

_One way or the other._

There was a pause for a few seconds, the silent wind around Maria somehow grating against her skin.

“Maria,” Natasha murmured eventually, her tone no longer chirpy, “Is everything okay?”

And Maria knew. Knew that the Russian had read the dread.

For a second, Maria wondered if she should just brush it off and deal with her little – “little” would be _understating_ it a little – snafu herself.

But then her mind went back to their conversation earlier that night, when they’d been discussing marriage, and Maria realised she couldn’t. Couldn’t hide it from Natasha.

_She’ll never forgive me. Or herself._

“What are you doing, Maria?” Natasha pressed on, her concern clearly audible over the call.

Maria hung her head, looking at the box in her hands in utter defeat.

“I, uh…” Maria breathed shakily, _“I’m trying to defuse a bomb.”_

* * *

“I’m trying to defuse a bomb.”

The reality felt a lot more imminent as Maria said the words out loud, and she forced herself to stay calm.

“You’re _what?”_ Natasha croaked, her own panic – and _shock –_ evident.

_She knows this isn’t a joke._

“Yeah, it, uh… it’s an IED,” Maria muttered, still staring at the timer on the device, “A timer-based IED.”

“I ran into this kid, while you were still in the bridal suite,” Maria explained, “He was holding this gift box with… uh, never mind the details. I’ve brought the damn thing to the terrace; I thought it was the best place…”

Strategic. Safe. Away from the civilians.

Maria let out a mirthless chuckle, “I figured that up is the only way to go, when you’re dealing with a goddamn _explosive…”_

She could hear Natasha breathing deeply at the other end, and she knew the Russian was trying to wrap her mind around everything.

And Maria could get that. The new development was just so damn _sudden,_ it almost felt surreal. One minute they’d been joking around about brands and dessert, and now, she was holding an actual fucking _bomb_ in her hands.

_A bomb that’s about to go off in 12 minutes._

“Right, right,” Natasha murmured after a bit, “Let me guess, it’ll be too late to wait for the bomb squad…?”

“Yeah,” Maria growled, all but _appalled_ by their fucked-up luck.

_It’s like we’re a magnet for all things messed-up._

“Okay, look, Nat,” Maria said, “I really do need you to stay in the main hall. I have reason to believe that there might be _another_ bomb out here somewhere. We’re looking for a guy – rather, a _box –_ with –”

“The _ugliest_ gift-wrapping paper on it?” Natasha supplied, “Yeah, I don’t need any clues to figure _that_ out.”

_Right, so she has connected the dots. We’re on the same page._

There was hope – just a shred of it – in that thought.

A huff was heard at the other end before the Russian spoke again, “There are shades of brown that shine like the bronze of the sun, but _that_ certainly ain’t the one.”

And Maria chuckled despite everything, wondering if Natasha even realised that she’d made it rhyme.

“The thing had stuck out like a sore thumb in this rich-ass palace,” the Russian muttered, “I should’ve known that something was wrong with it.”

Natasha added a scoff at the other end, “Whoever’s responsible for this _clearly_ lacks the art of blending in…”

“I don’t think they were aiming for subtlety, Nat,” Maria replied, “By the looks of it, this bomb seems good enough to take down a fairly large chunk of this palace…”

Maria shifted her eyes back to the timer, and she cursed under her breath at finding that she’d lost another minute.

“Okay, then,” Maria exhaled, her gaze fixed to the ticking device, “I can’t talk right now. I’ve got to work on this thing.”

“Yeah,” Natasha sighed, her tone quivering just a little, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Okay,” Maria breathed, pausing to swallow, “And you know what to do if… if it _does_ get too late…”

_Evacuate the civilians. And then –_

_“I’ll be there as soon as I can,”_ Natasha repeated, her voice firm this time, “Whatever happens, we’re in it together. You _do_ know that, right?”

The word – _“together” –_ was empowering. And also _overpowering._

Maria smiled wistfully at the reply she was about to give. In some other settings, the words would have made joy rain. But right now, her heart only clenched in pain.

_“I do.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indian marriages. Are _long_. Trust me, I've attended a couple, and they are _long_. (Just like this damn story). But they're also vibrant and colourful. And not to mention, _the food._ It's literally chef's-kiss amazing. Also, Udaipur is a favourite choice among Indians for destination weddings. And it is one of the prettiest cities in India, in my opinion. Google it, and you'll know.


	2. The Vows

#### The Soldier

Maria cut the call right after mumbling the sacred words.

She placed the box – the _bomb –_ on the ground and stood up, taking large gulps of air to tame her trepidation.

Maria’s gaze fell over her surroundings, and she chuckled wryly to herself. It was a _beautiful_ terrace – with ornate fountains (all turned off at the moment, but _statuesque_ nevertheless) at each corner – but Maria couldn’t get herself to appreciate its artistry.

The horizon of the lake – the one that was right behind the mansion – could be seen clearly from up here, and for a second, Maria suddenly wondered if she even _needed_ to defuse the bomb.

_The water could contain the explosion…_

Maria jogged over to the edge of the terrace, peering over the parapet to take a better look. But she realised it wouldn’t be the wisest idea to toss the damn bomb into the lake.

The embankment surrounding the water didn’t seem to be made of the most durable materials. So, if the force of the explosion was too large, there was a _very good_ chance that the barrier wouldn’t be able to endure it…

_And the water will flood right into the land…_

_Lovely_.

Just. Fucking. _Lovely._

Maria ran back to where she’d left the explosive and knelt on the ground, her hands grabbing the tools she’d brought out from the utilities cabinet. She was familiar – _used to be_ familiar _–_ with IEDs, and she reached deep into the recesses of her mind, desperately praying that she’d retained the knowledge from her time in the army.

Maria studied the circuitry for a while, analysing the paths of the many, _many_ cables on the device. The ominous ticking of the timer and the pesky voice in the back of her head kept reminding her of just how _precious_ each second was, and –

_Yeah, yeah, I know we don’t have time. But let me focus on the wires, dammit…_

Cut the wrong one, and it would all turn to dust and ashes. _Ashes,_ mostly.

For a brief moment, Maria recalled that moment way earlier that evening _,_ when she’d thought that they would be able to blow off some steam during this mission. And Maria let out yet another humourless chuckle at her blithe _ignorance._

_Oh, I’ll be blowing off steam, alright._

She prayed fervently that it wouldn’t be _literally_.

* * *

Two minutes.

That’s how much time was left.

When Maria snipped the final – the _deciding –_ red cable, ending the ticking of the timer for good, there were just two minutes left.

Her shoulders slumped and her hand trembled, the wire-cutter slipping from her grip. She lowered her head and kept breathing deeply, savouring the silence. And the _solace._

She stayed on her knees, not trusting herself to stand up without her legs wobbling, and brought out her phone, her fingers still shaking a bit as she fiddled with the device. And Natasha picked the call within 2 rings.

“You’d better not be dying without me being there to watch.”

The Russian’s voice was so frantic and frazzled, Maria couldn’t possibly register any sass in the words.

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” Maria murmured, “Because the clock’s stopped ticking, and I’m still talking…”

And Natasha let out a brief laugh, relief slipping into her voice fully and freely.

“Now,” Maria spoke after a bit, “Please, _for the love of God,_ tell me that I was wrong, and the one I just defused was the _only_ bomb in this palace…”

“I’d have _loved_ to tell you that,” Natasha muttered, “But I can’t this time. I’m on my way to the terrace with the second bomb.”

Maria growled under her breath, _“Of course,_ like all things that give us pleasure, even _trouble_ comes in twos…”

The Russian laughed all but uproariously at the other end. And Maria wished these weren’t the circumstances to come up with a quip so spot on.

Natasha settled down far too soon, “I didn’t know you even had it in you to crack a joke like that, Agent Hill.”

“Performance pressure _clearly_ works well for you,” the Russian added, snickering a little again.

Maria chuckled too, but it didn’t last long, the reminder bringing in the dread all over again.

 _“Right,”_ Maria muttered, “Now tell me, how much time do we have before the second bomb goes off?”

“The timer on this thing hasn’t started yet,” Natasha answered, “It’s remote controlled. Short-range, I’m sure. I saw the antenna when I’d looked into the box.”

_What even…?_

“That’s weird,” Maria mumbled, genuinely baffled, “The one with me was purely timer-triggered. Why would the same person plant two _different_ kinds of bombs….?”

It was pretty obvious that this was a single person’s doing, given the common gift-wrapping paper. They mulled over it for a bit, and it occurred to Maria that –

“One of them could be a decoy,” Natasha spoke, “Or the _other_ could be a _backup,_ considering that I found this one in a makeshift green room _right beside_ the wedding stage.”

“Yeah, makes sense,” Maria replied, “Because when I’d found the first bomb, it was set to go off within 15 minutes, _in Ahuja’s room_. I’m guessing that the intention was to use the window of time – before the reception started – to take him out.”

“Well, him and _everyone_ on that storey,” Maria added, “Which includes the bride…”

 _“Right,”_ the Russian mumbled, “So, by that logic, if the newlyweds turn up at the reception – which they _will_ in another 10 minutes or so – our saboteur would know that he has to activate his Plan B…”

That was another countdown right there.

Moreover, 10 minutes – which in itself were a mere _assumption –_ were far too less for them to drive out to find a safe place where they could dispose the bomb. They had no choice but to defuse it. Within 10 minutes. Or lesser.

_Why. Fucking. Not._

Maria shook her head to herself, trying to divert her mind away from the imaginary timer.

“The saboteur,” Maria spoke, “Who do you think it is: Ahuja Senior or the ex-boyfriend?”

The jealous brother or the jilted lover; it had to be one of them. From their discussion earlier that night, the two men were the only people – the only people _that they knew of,_ actually _–_ who had motive to ruin this wedding.

Well, the motives couldn’t be – _shouldn’t_ be – compelling enough for either of them to go to such extreme lengths. But then again, they’d seen crazed people do worse. 

_A premeditated crime of passion…_

Paradoxical, but possible.

Plus, _neither_ of the suspects was present at the wedding. The image of that steward flashed in Maria’s mind again – the only clue they had for solving their little mystery – and she tried desperately to discern the face. But the memory was a blur, and she could only gnash her teeth in frustration.

“I’m tilting towards the brother,” Maria said, “He stands a chance to ascend the throne of Ahuja Enterprises _and_ he has beef with the bride.”

It would be killing two birds with one stone. _Literally._

“I don’t think it’s the brother, actually,” Natasha murmured at the other end.

“You see, earlier tonight,” the Russian began, “When I was summoned by the bride, I’d thought that it was regarding some new trouble. But it was to tell me about a _truce._ Between her and her now-brother-in-law.”

“What, now?” Maria murmured, her forehead knitting in confusion.

“Yeah, that was literally my response to her,” Natasha replied, “Like, what even _is_ this family drama…”

 _“Anyway,”_ the Russian continued, “So, the bride showed me this postcard – _yeah_ , an actual _postcard –_ that Ahuja Senior had sent her. The envelope was postmarked yesterday, and it was sent from some city down in Goa.”

“It was essentially a letter,” Natasha explained, “To express how he has _‘realised his mistake’_ and everything. How it had been wrong of him to _‘use her as a punching bag.’_ And how she’ll be a _‘great addition to the family.’”_

Maria couldn’t help but scoff back, “A little convenient, don’t you think? To send a letter from a thousand miles away, instead of saying all that face-to-face _at_ his brother’s wedding…”

“Once again, my exact thoughts,” Natasha responded, “It’s all super shady and far too well timed.”

 _“So,_ I ran some checks myself,” the Russian said immediately, “I made some calls; asked around. And turns out, our senior bro really _is_ in Goa, snorkelling in the blue seas, among other things…”

“There’s pictures to confirm that,” Natasha added, her voice flat, “The swimming trunks had a dolphin print.”

Maria sputtered out a laugh, and the Russian promptly joined her, the gravity of their situation momentarily easing.

The chuckling ended soon, and Natasha sighed, “Yeah, so, point is, whether or not Ahuja Senior has really turned over a new leaf or whatever, he couldn’t have much to do with the bombs.”

“Right,” Maria hummed, “Because he obviously can’t detonate them from _another state…”_

 _“Prezactly,”_ the Russian responded, her tone just a tad cheeky.

It was a terribly teenager-ish word, but Maria honestly couldn’t care less, her mind focused on the _worst_ ever version of family-feud that they were caught in the middle of.

“So, the ex marks the spot, I guess,” Maria mumbled into the phone, “But it doesn’t make sense…”

“Why not?” Natasha replied, “You mentioned earlier tonight that the guy’s out on bail. He could very well be on the prowl…”

“If that’s the case,” Maria countered, “Then why would he wait till _after_ the marriage ceremony to make his move? If he really wanted to take back the bride, he would’ve tried to remove Ahuja _before_ the wedding even started.”

“Maybe that’s not what he wants anymore,” the Russian said, “The man is facing charges of fraud and embezzlement _._ So, it isn’t just his _love_ life that’s in shambles because of Ahuja. Maybe this is all an _if-I-go-down-I-take-you-down-with-me_ act.”

“A textbook case of motiveless malevolence,” Natasha added, rather sagely, “Surely you’ve heard of that, or must I teach you _everything_ today…?”

And Maria rolled her eyes even though the woman couldn’t see her.

“Well, then, let me point out, _Professor,”_ Maria replied, “That motiveless malevolence still requires _money._ The guy’s accounts have been frozen by the authorities, and his cash-stash has been swiped.”

The question was clear: _how’s the man getting the resources to pull all this off?_

Not to mention, the _inside access_ to plant not one, but _two_ (hopefully _just_ two) bombs. At a _multi-millionaire’s_ wedding.

“That’s a valid point,” Natasha mumbled, a sigh heard at her end.

“Well, would you look at that,” the Russian snickered after a bit, “The student has become… _the_ _intermediate student.”_

As _pathetic_ as the quip was (in both, its nature and timing), Maria couldn’t help the small chuckle leaving her lips.

“Okay, you know what,” Maria eventually exhaled into the phone, “Bring the bomb up here. We’ll deal with that first before figuring out the rest of this.”

“Yeah,” Natasha replied, “Also, speaking of that; I am _beyond thrilled_ to tell you that I’ve figured it out…”

It took Maria a while to realise that the Russian wasn’t referring to their Wedding-from-Hell situation.

_She’s talking about our game…_

The _guess-the-brand_ game. Maria had almost forgotten about it.

 _“Have you,_ now?” Maria replied, as theatrically as she could, “You seem very confident about your guess…”

 _“Oh,_ it isn’t a _guess,”_ the Russian replied smugly, “It’s _the answer.”_

The woman and her sheer _confidence._ She wore it like it was an armour; shining and _defining_.

“Well, then,” Maria said, smiling even though her girlfriend couldn’t see it, “My suit and I await your answer…”

“Not yet, Hill,” Natasha responded, her own grin evident in her voice, “You’d created _quite_ the hype; it has _got_ to be a dramatic reveal…”

Maria chuckled a little, “Haven’t you had enough of drama for the night?”

“I really have,” the Russian laughed back, “But _this_ kind, I might just like.”

“Right, then,” Natasha huffed just a few seconds later, “I’ll be up there soon. See you then…”

Maria only hummed back in response, and the Russian cut the call. But Maria had caught the soft sigh escaping her girlfriend’s lips and she knew the unsaid words were heard.

_I can’t wait._

For _both_ the answers.

* * *

Maria was _so_ close.

It felt like the solution was _right there,_ but she couldn’t see it.

As Maria waited for the redhead to show up on the terrace, her mind kept combing through the facts they had so far, trying to figure out who could be behind all this.

The theories she’d discussed with Natasha – for both suspects – had chinks in them, and it all just didn’t add up.

_Neither the ex nor Ahuja’s brother fits the profile fully…_

And then, of course, there was the _disturbingly_ perfect timing of the brother’s vacation-induced change-of-heart. Almost as if it was the most air-tight alibi.

Alibi. _Alibi._

_Now all that’s needed is a fall-guy…_

And that’s when Maria realised it.

_We’ve been assuming that it’s an or._

It could be an _and._

The jealous brother _and_ the jilted lover. The brains and the brawn. The puppeteer and his pawn. One man with everything to gain, the other with nothing to lose.

The most _deadly_ duo.

Maria quickly pulled out her mission phone – the one with S.H.I.E.L.D.’s tech pizzazz in it – from her pocket.

_Should’ve done this way before…_

Her fingers flew over the device as she ran the algorithms, checking the regional police and bank records to see if her hypothesis was right.

_Oh, damn. I guess, Nat’s not the only one figuring stuff out tonight…_

As if on cue, Maria heard the gate of the terrace being opened somewhere behind her, and she stood up, her eyes still glued to the files she was reading on the phone.

“Hey, Nat, I’ve solved it,” Maria mumbled, still looking at the device in her hand, “It’s _both_ of them.”

“I’m just going through the records,” Maria murmured, tapping on the phone, “And get this: Ahuja’s brother opened a new account a few days back.”

Maria kept scrolling through the documents, “It’s an _anonymous_ account, actually, and it has been accessed just _twice.”_

_Thank God for S.H.I.E.L.D.’s complete disregard for information privacy…_

The shuffle of footsteps behind her kept getting louder, but Maria continued skimming through the reports frenziedly.

“The first time was to do a local wire transfer,” Maria murmured, “And the amount is _equal to_ the bail money for _the ex.”_

“And the second time was for a large cash withdrawal,” Maria went on, her eyes widening as she read the sum, “No guesses who that is for…”

“The brother’s the money while the ex is the muscle,” Maria exhaled, a little excited at solving the puzzle, “It’s a classic case of _the-enemy-of-my-enemy-is-my-friend…”_

Maria turned around, still clutching the phone, eager to show the redhead her findings. After a night’s worth of playing detective, they could _finally_ put an end to this cloak-and–

Dagger.

Maria looked up just in time to _see_ the dagger, the tip of its blade barely 2 inches above her heart.

* * *

Maria saw the knife approaching her and her senses switched to autopilot.

She moved out of its way, intending to sidestep the blow – the _fatal_ blow – but the blade still caught her in the joint of her left shoulder, sinking into the skin.

Maria let out an enraged gasp and raised her other hand to counter the strike, but the knife – still embedded in her shoulder – was twisted – twisted _violently –_ and her fist froze mid-air.

Her head snapped up and her mouth flew open, but her scream stayed soundless, her shoulder feeling like it was ablaze.

The blade was yanked out, and Maria found her legs buckling before she could help it, the pain too much to bear. Her knees hit the ground just a second later, and Maria struggled to keep her head raised to look at her attacker.

The steward uniform from earlier was all too familiar. _So_ was that deranged, _demonic_ glint in the man’s eyes – the one that she’d seen yesterday in Ahuja’s office – and Maria had no problem identifying the guy this time.

The ex-whatever-the-fuck-is-his-name-boyfriend.

“You’ve pissed me off every single time we’ve met,” the man snarled at her, obviously remembering her.

Maria lunged ahead to launch a blow at his leg, hoping to trip him, but the guy jumped back, out of her reach. The momentum made Maria’s body lurch forward, and her hands reached out to brace herself, her palms flat against the ground.

She straightened herself quickly and looked up, ready to block any hit that was going to be aimed at her. But the man was just sneering at her, his expression utterly condescending, his lips twitching with amusement. He raked his gaze over Maria’s kneeling form, and the smirk only became smugger.

“This position suits you,” the guy taunted, flexing his armed hand, “All that’s left is for you to be–”

A solid uppercut to his jaw made the guy shut up.

He stumbled several steps away, the knife dropping from his hand, and Maria reached forward to snag it before glancing up again at her saviour.

Natasha – _the Black Widow –_ stood in front of her, her gaze outright _murderous_ as she glowered at the man. The Russian’s whole body was trembling with rage, and her fists kept curling and uncurling beside her, as if she was trying to decide just which way to kill the guy.

Natasha turned to look at her, and her eyes softened a bit, despite the clench of her jaw. But then her gaze darted towards Maria’s wounded shoulder – the blood dribbling down the sleeve of her blazer and onto the ground – and the fire was back in the emeralds.

Natasha faced the guy again, _“You_ are going to _pay.”_

“For ruining a _Tommy Hilfiger_ suit,” the Russian growled, giving Maria a side glance.

And Maria laughed despite everything.

It was the answer. To their game.

_The smartass got it right after all…_

And then Natasha looked towards the man again, her lips twisted into the most _scathing_ scowl, “And for thinking that she would _ever_ beg before anyone.”

With that, the Widow let out a feral roar and charged towards the guy, finally unleashing her wrath.

Much as Maria would have loved to, she didn’t stop to watch the show and swept her eyes around, in search of the bomb that Natasha was meant to bring up to the terrace. She found it soon enough, lying several feet away from her, and she proceeded to stand up.

Maria staggered over to the box, trying to ignore the pain in her bleeding shoulder. She got there eventually and dropped to her knees, her hands already reaching to pry apart the paper and look at the device.

This bomb looked more complex than the first one – _of fucking course_ it had to be more complex – and Maria cursed under breath. The device had three separate circuit boards, no doubt leading to three modules that would blow up individually when activated.

Maria was still clutching that dagger from before – well, it was a Swiss knife, she now realised – and she promptly got to work, tracing the wire paths with the tip of the blade. The pain in her shoulder was only worsening by the passing second, but Maria gritted her teeth and focused her attention on the circuitry.

And she’d just disabled two of the modules when she heard footsteps behind her again. Maria was pretty sure it was Natasha _(surer_ than she’d been earlier) and she didn’t bother checking, continuing with her task at hand. As predicted, the redhead came over to the front, kneeling on the ground like Maria, and Maria looked up at her girlfriend.

At the Widow’s _withering_ glare.

Natasha reached for the lapels of Maria’s coat and helped her shrug it off her shoulders. The Russian balled up the blazer and then pressed it against Maria’s bleeding shoulder, and Maria flinched inadvertently. She bit back her cry and dropped her head, blinking rapidly as she clenched her jaw.

 _“Goddammit,_ Maria,” Natasha muttered, her tone both angry and concerned, “How’d you let yourself get stabbed by a damn civilian?”

“I…” Maria croaked, looking up, “I wasn’t paying attention. I thought it was you…”

“Well, then you should’ve been even _more_ alert,” the Russian scoffed, “I’m _obviously_ deadlier.”

Natasha’s expression soon morphed into that cheeky smirk, but her eyes still had a worried look.

Maria gave her a smile, hoping it that it wasn’t coming off as a grimace, “It wouldn’t have mattered, if it really had been you.”

“You never would have missed,” Maria murmured, a lopsided grin on her lips.

_You never would have missed my heart, one way or the other._

The green orbs mellowed instantly, and Natasha let out a gruff chuckle, “You have a _very_ weird way of flirting, Hill…”

Maria ducked her head self-consciously, and she immediately found a finger hooked under her chin. The redhead tipped Maria’s head upwards, the most _loving_ smile on her lips.

“But you don’t have to,” Natasha whispered, “I’m already your girlfriend, remember?”

Maria _did_ remember the reference, and she shot the redhead the widest grin she could manage. Natasha returned it before her features morphed into a frown, her gaze darting towards the blazer that was getting soaked by blood.

“This is _insane,”_ the redhead growled under her breath, “We were supposed to be enjoying the wedding and having our dessert and playing our game…”

“There is a bright side, you know,” Maria murmured, “You wanted it to be a dramatic reveal, and it _was…”_

Maria’s eyes drifted to the coat – to the _inside label_ at the back of its collar – before she looked up.

“It _is_ a Tommy Hilfiger suit,” Maria said, a genuine grin on her lips, “You win.”

Told you, the brand was ironic.

Tommy Hilfiger. _Hill-_ figer. Hill- _figure._

Natasha’s free hand rose and she brushed her knuckles over Maria’s jaw, her eyes _devastatingly_ soft, for some reason.

“You _let_ me win,” the redhead whispered, her gaze still intense, “You told me I had only two clues, but you gave me a third one.”

 _“‘Keep looking at me, and you’ll figure it out,’”_ Natasha said, a slight lilt in her voice.

The Russian had repeated the little bit that Maria had added earlier that night, when she’d reminded Natasha about her last hint.

“Oh, I _‘figured’_ it out,” the redhead murmured, her smile radiant, “I _Hilfiger-ed_ it out.”

“So, _no,_ soldier, I _didn’t_ win,” Natasha exhaled, devotion glittering in her eyes, _“You_ made me win.”

“I _wanted_ you to win,” Maria whispered, “Is that really such a bad thing?”

The redhead cupped Maria’s cheek, her thumb tracing the bone beneath Maria’s eye, “It’s the _best_ thing…”

Maria smiled and then sighed, nuzzling her jaw into her girlfriend’s palm, yearning for the healing touch. Her eyes closed for a bit before she was reminded of the still-very-much-active bomb.

“Okay, then,” Maria murmured, opening her eyes, “Don’t disturb the maestro at work; I’m not done with this thing.”

Maria huffed to herself, “I have half a mind to just toss it into the damn lake, considering that I’ve already disabled two of its modules. But there’s just one left, so I might as well finish the job.”

Natasha nodded wordlessly, changing her grip over the coat that she was pressing against Maria’s shoulder to let her see the device in between them.

“By the way,” Maria muttered, shifting her gaze down to resume her work, “I’ve cracked our case. Ahuja’s brother has been –”

“Working behind the scenes all along?” the Russian supplied, “Yeah, I know.”

Natasha reached into her pocket with her free hand and pulled out a phone. It was _Maria’s_ phone, actually; the one that she’d been using to check the (confidential) records.

It had probably fallen earlier, during the Attack-from-Nowhere, and Maria realised that the Russian must have picked it up after, you know, thrashing the guy to pulp. (Hopefully _just_ thrashing).

“I read the files,” the Russian said, holding the device up, “I also _downloaded_ them, and _emailed_ them to myself. Before our senior bro could realise how _spectacularly_ his plan had failed and decided to wipe out the evidence.”

“Nice job on uncovering all that, by the way,” Natasha said, smiling fondly.

“You know what,” the Russian added, still grinning, “You’ve earned it this time: the student really _has_ become the master…”

Maria chuckled back tiredly, shaking her head at the sheer _craziness_ of the night.

“What about our Roadside Romeo?” Maria said, pausing in her work, “I hope you haven’t killed him…”

They turned to glance towards the man, lying several yards beside them, and they saw him twitching and groaning weakly on the ground, hugging his midsection protectively.

“You’re really killing it with the names,” Natasha chuckled roughly, “But, no, I didn’t _kill him._ _Much_ as I wanted to.”

“I know I can’t,” the Russian muttered, “Not with us being _‘employees.’”_

Maria gave her a shaky nod before concentrating on the device again. The blood loss – the _pain –_ was starting to get to her, and she found it increasingly difficult to focus.

 _“Dammit,”_ Natasha suddenly gasped, making Maria’s head snap up, “How could I forget to tell you…”

The emeralds were stormy with fright as the Russian spoke again, “There’s a _third_ bomb at the wedding.”

 _“What?”_ Maria rasped, panicking all over again.

Natasha stared at her for a bit, before her lips curved up into that devilish grin, _“You.”_

“You are _the bomb,_ Hill,” the Russian smirked, “And you ain’t never going to stop –”

Ticking.

The _bomb_ had _started_ ticking. The _actual_ bomb – lying on the ground _right between them –_ had started ticking.

Their heads whipped towards the man again, and they found him motionless – unconscious – on the ground. But his hand was outstretched, and there was a remote clasped in it, the thumb resting against a button.

The button that had begun the countdown, obviously.

_A final Hail Mary…_

Maria cursed under her breath and looked back at the device before her, her eyes instantly locking on the digits on timer.

20.

19.

_Seconds._

And the sheer _terror_ was instantaneous.

* * *

Maria frantically ran her gaze over the circuit board of the remaining module, desperately hoping to figure out the right wire to cut.

And almost immediately, she felt a hand grip her good arm, making her raise her head.

“It can’t be done,” Natasha whispered, despair evident in her eyes.

But Maria shook her head and looked down at the device again, _“No,_ let me try –”

But the Russian grabbed her hands and pried them away from the bomb, proceeding to lift the box off the ground as she stood up.

From where Maria was kneeling on the ground, the redhead looked so tall and majestic; her tresses flying freely in the wind, but her jaw squared immovably.

Natasha gave her a single grim nod, and then she turned around and ran.

And Maria knew exactly what the Russian was going to do with the bomb.

_Throw it over. Into the lake._

The ultimate fall-back option.

Maria watched as the redhead ran towards the edge of the terrace, her speed insane despite the box that she was carrying.

And those seconds couldn’t have moved _slower._

As Natasha got closer to the parapet, Maria saw the fountain standing in the Russian’s path, and her heart briefly leaped into her throat.

 _“Watch out!”_ Maria croaked, wondering if her feeble voice was even heard.

But Natasha managed to swerve herself away from the fountain, her hip just barely missing its rim, and reached the edge of the terrace. The Russian skidded to a stop and promptly threw the box – the _bomb –_ over the parapet.

Natasha immediately began walking backwards, still looking ahead as she moved away from the parapet. And she’d taken just two steps when it happened.

A blinding burst of light. A deafening blast of sound.

The bomb had gone off.

It must have still been in the air – not sufficiently far from the edge of the terrace – when it blew up, and the horizon lit up in a small ball of flames, taking off a chunk of the parapet with them.

The force of the explosion wasn’t too large, but it still threw Natasha back. And Maria could only watch helplessly as the Russian’s body crashed into the fountain behind her, the whole structure crumbling to the floor along with her.

_NO!_

_She was too close… far too close…_

Maria felt the life return to her only when she saw the redhead’s body twitch amidst the rubble.

Natasha turned over and stood up in the next few seconds, her entire body quaking with effort, one of her hands clutching the back of her head. Even from the distance, Maria could see that the Russian was utterly dazed, her steps faltering as she struggled to stay upright.

And whatever _semblance_ of relief Maria had felt fizzled out when she saw the woman careening towards the edge of the terrace.

Maria scrambled to get to her feet and then began running ahead, her vision tunnelling around the redhead’s swaying body.

_Stay down, Nat. Stay down!_

But Natasha kept stumbling closer – _alarmingly_ closer – to the brink of the terrace, completely disoriented, and Maria pushed herself to cover the distance faster.

And she reached there just in time to catch the redhead.

She pulled Natasha to herself, before the Russian could slip off the terrace and fall right to her… to her de–

_Get a grip, Hill. Now’s not the time._

Maria dragged herself and the redhead away from the edge of the terrace, and Natasha sank against her, unable to support her own weight anymore.

Maria could already feel the torn edges of the Russian’s jumpsuit, and she knew there would be countless scrapes. The hand cradling the back of Natasha’s head came back wet and sticky with blood, and Maria felt her dread rising.

_A concussion. Probably grade 2._

_Hopefully only grade 2._

She wrapped an arm around the shorter woman’s waist, her palm resting against the small of Natasha’s back, but the redhead let out a heart-wrenching whimper, her body jerking violently against Maria’s.

_Jesus, blunt trauma to the spine…_

Maria immediately adjusted her grip, ensuring that she wasn’t aggravating the injury. She held her girlfriend’s body close as she hugged her, willing for her misery to end.

“You…” Natasha murmured, her voice small and strained, “You d-didn’t let me f-fall…”

_And you didn’t let us get blown to bits._

“You’re only allowed to fall for me,” Maria whispered, a strangled growl escaping her lips.

Natasha tried to laugh, but it came out as a mewl, and she sagged further against Maria, her head dropping onto Maria’s shoulder. The Russian’s body was trembling so uncontrollably, she couldn’t even get herself to raise her arms and return the hug.

“Maria,” the redhead croaked, her voice pained, “Maria, _please…”_

And it was as if that dagger actually _had_ stabbed Maria’s heart. She’d never felt more powerless in her life.

“I know, Nat,” Maria whispered, hugging her girlfriend as gently as she could.

_I know it hurts…_

“But I...” Maria rasped, “I need you to work with me right now.”

The shorter woman nodded shakily against Maria’s neck, and Maria proceeded to pull out of the embrace. She slung Natasha’s arm over her shoulder and draped an arm around the redhead’s waist carefully, making sure that she wasn’t pressing against Natasha’s back.

The Russian’s eyelids kept drooping, her head lolling over, and she was fighting to stay conscious. Maria wasn’t _nearly_ fine herself, the throbbing in her still-bleeding shoulder threatening to make her collapse, and she struggled to keep them both standing.

But when she looked down at her girlfriend, she couldn’t stop herself from making the promise.

_I will get you out of here, if it’s the last thing I do._

#### The Widow

The first thing that Natasha did when she came round was stare at a bright, white ceiling.

Her vision was blurred, and the lights above her seemed to have halos around them. Natasha moved her head to scan her surroundings and ended up groaning, her whole body feeling like it was stuffed with cotton.

Her sight hadn’t cleared, and she barely saw the fuzzy silhouette approaching her bed. Natasha could only make out that it was a woman – tall and thin – with brown hair, but the blue orbs shined right through the haze shrouding her eyes.

“Hey there, hot stuff,” the brunette murmured, the words sounding like they’d been spoken from underwater.

Natasha’s senses were still numb, and she could only blink blankly in response. Blue-eyes-brown-hair reached for something beside Natasha’s bed, and Natasha soon felt ice chips being placed on her lips. She sucked on them gratefully, the chillness soothing her chapped lips and her parched throat.

The woman stood beside Natasha’s bed and fed her some more ice chips, and Natasha’s vision began normalising. The image was still a little cloudy, but she could somewhat see the apprehension etched across the brunette’s features now.

“Do you remember how you got here?” the taller woman whispered, her voice quivering, “Do you recognise me?”

Natasha studied the brunette’s face for a few seconds, and then shook her head slowly, “I don’t remember you…”

The taller woman flinched and stumbled back a few steps, a choked sound escaping her lips. She scrunched her eyes close for a bit, breathing deeply, before the look of horror faded.

“It’s okay,” the woman said, opening her eyes and coming closer to the bed.

“Hey, it’s okay,” the brunette repeated, her tone tender and tensed at the same time, “You’ve had a traumatic brain injury, and the doctors did say that it could cause retrograde amnesia, but it’s oka–”

“I don’t remember you _being this tall,_ soldier,” Natasha cut her off, hoping her smile was cheeky, “One might even call it _freakishly_ tall…”

Maria gaped at her for a few seconds, the blue eyes filled with disbelief, before she realised that it had all been a charade.

(Natasha couldn’t possibly _forget_ it, really; the sheer _ordeal_ that the taller woman had gone through to get them to the hospital. Couldn’t forget the blood – _Maria’s_ blood – spilling on the floor as they’d staggered down the stairs and out of the mansion. The way Maria had frantically tried calling for an ambulance. The city lights whizzing past her as the brunette had weaved the car through the roads, the vehicle lurching and rattling as Maria struggled to stay conscious herself.)

A strangled sigh left the taller woman’s lips and she squeezed her eyes shut again, her body swaying a little. She opened them soon enough and rushed forward, bending down to place a feather-light kiss on Natasha’s temple – well, on the _bandage_ wrapped around Natasha’s head – before pulling back.

 _“Jesus,_ Nat,” Maria croaked breathlessly, “You’ll really be the death of me.”

And Natasha felt that stab of guilt all over again.

She raised her hand to hold her girlfriend’s, but her arm was still heavy, and it fell slack almost immediately. And Maria caught the hand right before it hit the bed, her grip gentle. The brunette turned the palm over and bent down again, kissing Natasha’s knuckles fervently, her eyes never straying away from Natasha’s as she pulled back and stood up straight.

“Why don’t you get mad?” Natasha whispered, her own gaze mellowing.

“I play all these tricks –” _these sadistic tricks,_ Natasha should have said, “– on you, but they never seem to piss you off.”

_Even though they cause you pain…_

“Yeah,” Maria chuckled gruffly, “The tricks can be _sadistic_ and _sociopathic.”_

And Natasha laughed back, ignoring the way it made her head throb; pleased by the fact that her girlfriend had guessed the word.

“But the tricks are your thing, Nat,” Maria breathed, “They let me know that you’re fine. That the… _Romanoff-ness_ is still intact.”

And Natasha chuckled a little again, her heart melting at her girlfriend’s admission.

The taller woman squeezed Natasha’s fingers, her smile infinitely soft, “Your tricks and your games are what drew me to you in the first place.”

“If I told you to change stuff about yourself,” Maria whispered, “Then you’re not going to be the woman I fell in love with.”

Simple and sublime; the soldier won her over every single time.

“You really are _so_ _damn_ –” _amazing,_ Natasha meant to say, “– _tall.”_

And Maria laughed fondly, her gorgeous eyes crinkling at the edges as she shook her head.

“Get down here, would you?” Natasha said, smiling at the brunette as she tugged at their fingers.

Maria grinned back, leaving Natasha’s hand to turn around and pull the single chair in the room closer to the bed. The taller woman picked up a cup – of coffee, probably – off the seat and then lowered herself onto the chair.

“So, tell me,” Natasha spoke, once the brunette was comfortable, “How long have I been out?”

Maria’s expression faltered and she ducked her head, and Natasha’s senses immediately perked up.

The taller woman eyed her cup with interest, _“Seven.”_

“Seven what?” Natasha said, her own voice small, “Hours?”

_Please say yes._

_“No,”_ Maria muttered, her thumb brushing over the rim of her cup.

_Fuck. Has it been seven days?_

The thought nearly sent her mind spiralling, but Natasha willed herself to stay calm and think straight. The taller woman had changed out of her pantsuit from that night, and she was in jeans and a button-down shirt right now. But her left arm was wrapped up in a sling, which meant that it couldn’t be more than –

 _“Seven cups of coffee,”_ Maria spoke, raising her head to reveal her smirk, “One taken every two hours or so.”

“Do the math yourself, _Professor,”_ the taller woman added, her lips curved up in a shrewd grin. 

And Natasha coughed breathlessly, catching her girlfriend’s little deception. (And the reference, of course).

“Well, soldier,” Natasha huffed weakly, “I’ve officially gotten a taste of my own medicine.”

She slowly swept her gaze around the room – the _hospital_ room _,_ with all its equipment – before looking at the brunette again.

“The pun is very, _very_ intended,” Natasha smiled slyly.

And a small bubble of laughter escaped Maria’s lips, her eyes shining with affection.

“I must’ve misspoken earlier,” Maria murmured, that _beyond-_ just-cute lopsided grin on her lips, “The tricks are _our_ thing.”

_Yeah, they are._

Natasha grinned back impishly, “So very _communist_ of you…”

“Says the _Russian.”_

“Says the woman who’s _dating_ a Russian.

_“Damned smartass…”_

And they grinned at each other, the only sound around them being the faint beeping of the machines.

Natasha eventually brought her hand up to grab the railing of her bed, but Maria shook her head to stop her from moving. The taller woman switched the cup she was holding to her injured hand and then raised the freed one to press a button on the outer side of the bedrail.

The bed thrummed to life and its backrest began tilting gradually. Maria waited till it was elevated to an angle of around 30o before lifting her finger off the button. Natasha shot her a thankful smile, satisfied at finally being in a sitting position.

“How’s the shoulder?” Natasha asked, looking towards the brunette’s wounded arm.

Maria gave her a one-sided shrug, “How’s the head? And the back? And all the bruises?”

 _“Touché,_ Hill,” Natasha replied, a tired sigh leaving her lips.

Maria’s features instantly mellowed, and she cupped Natasha’s cheek. Her thumb stroked Natasha’s eyebrow gently, soothing the headache she knew Natasha was having.

“To answer your question, though,” the taller woman began after a bit, “You’ve been here for almost a day. It’ll be 7 p.m. soon, and the wedding was last night.”

Natasha only nodded, leaning her cheek further into her girlfriend’s palm, her eyes closing involuntarily. She let the brunette continue the ministrations for a while before opening her eyes and lowering Maria’s hand, letting it rest on the mattress beside her.

“So, what’ve you been up to all this time,” Natasha said, threading her fingers through her girlfriend’s, _“Apart_ from chugging coffee?”

Maria scoffed back adorably, “I’ll have you know that I’ve been _quite_ busy.”

 _“Right,”_ Natasha replied, “There must’ve been the _‘after-party’_ to deal with, of course…”

“Yeah,” Maria sighed, her shoulders slumping tiredly, “So, those files that you downloaded? I showed them to Ahuja, before our two-man Suicide Squad decided to make a run for it.”

Natasha let out a small chuckle, _“Loving_ the names, by the way, but go on…”

Maria grinned a little and then continued, “Yeah, so the cops have arrested the ex – _for good,_ this time, considering that _attempt to murder_ is a non-bailable offence – and the brother –”

“Let me guess,” Natasha supplied, a tiny smirk on her lips, “Ahuja _exploded_ all over him?”

Maria cringed at the word, “Please, no bomb-related puns till the next year.”

“I don’t care how _mind-blowing_ they are,” the taller woman added, winking at Natasha.

They chuckled for a bit, the memory of the mess – the _stress_ – making them sigh heavily.

“But, yeah, you’re right,” Maria resumed after a bit, “Ahuja had the police drag his brother’s ass back here.”

“The evidence we’d gathered was circumstantial,” the taller woman went on, “But the guy fessed up almost immediately. I guess, he was aiming to play the _shunned-elder-brother_ card, hoping to gain some sympathy.”

“Oh, bad idea, buddy,” Natasha piped up.

Maria chuckled in agreement, “Yeah, it blew up in his face _magnificently.”_

The taller woman let Natasha laugh at the pun before continuing, “Yeah, so, Ahuja saw red and he totally chewed him out. Legally, financially, even _personally._ ”

“Ahuja’s _wife_ was more pissed off, actually,” Maria added, “She looked like she was ready to kill him herself.”

Natasha nodded absently, “It must be true, then: hell really hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

“Literally couldn’t be truer,” the brunette hummed back, “She was a fire-breathing dragon back at the police station.”

“Wait,” Natasha said, catching on the words, _“You_ were at the police station? Do the cops know _how exactly_ we were involved?”

Natasha knew that the question had been conveyed: _have our covers been blown?_

“I had to be there, since I’d gotten the proof,” Maria answered, _“Our covers_ actually helped me out. I gave them some S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued jargon. About how I had _‘special access’_ to _‘certain databases’_ since we’re supposed to be _‘financial analysts.’”_

“Besides,” the brunette added, _“I_ wasn’t the object of interest, given that the cops had to clean up after – _literally_ clean up after _–_ the country’s biggest family scandals.”

Maria sighed raggedly, “But Ahuja has promised to keep our names – well, our _cover_ names, either way – out of the press. At this point, though, I think he’ll agree to _anything_ we tell him to do.”

Natasha nodded in response and watched her girlfriend’s face, the fatigue evident across her features.

_She really has been busy…_

“So, yeah,” Maria exhaled, “It was quite the showdown back there, but I didn’t wait to watch the family drama, considering that I had _my own_ –”

The taller woman stopped abruptly and ducked her head, but Natasha guessed the aborted word and her heart surged with warmth.

 _“Anyway,”_ Maria said, clearing her throat, “Why don’t we talk about the _other_ exciting thing that happened last night?”

Natasha flashed her a simper, hoping that it looked sufficiently salacious, “I don’t think the _‘exciting’_ thing happened, actually…”

Natasha bit her lower lip suggestively, and the brunette promptly huffed back, her ears turning red as she grasped the meaning.

 _“Minx,”_ Maria growled affectionately.

And Natasha grinned back, the (loving) term never ceasing to please her.

“I was talking about _our game,”_ the taller woman said, “The game that _you won.”_

“So, go ahead,” Maria paused to take a sip of her coffee, “Ask for your prize.”

“It’s anything I want, isn’t it?” Natasha said, more in awe than in question.

The taller woman smiled back, “It sure is.”

“Right, then,” Natasha exhaled, “That’s a difficult decision to make, so I’m going to need something to jog my mind.” 

_“Perhaps,”_ Natasha said, taking a rather dramatic pause, “A _coffee_ would do the trick...”

Natasha’s eyes flitted down to the cup in the brunette’s hand before looking up again: _your coffee, to be precise._

Maria stared back, her features set in a perfect poker face: _you’ve got to be kidding me…_

And Natasha widened her eyes some more: _pretty please, with a cherry on top?_

The taller woman tried to maintain her expression, but her sapphires had _that_ look in them. The _I’m-going-to-give-in-to-your-demands-anyway_ look.

And sure enough, Maria thrust the cup towards Natasha, huffing in (faux) exasperation, “Always with those deathly cute eyes…”

And Natasha grinned so madly, she felt the cold wind from the air-conditioner make _all_ her teeth chatter.

“It’s not so hot anymore, though,” the taller woman grumbled, eyeing the cup wistfully, “And it’s –”

She didn’t have to say it, because Natasha found out herself when she took a sip of the coffee.

“It’s _decaf!”_ Natasha exclaimed, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

But Maria wasn’t even fazed, “It’s the _only_ kind you and I are allowed to have right now.”

“It’s also _black,”_ Natasha scoffed, outright _outraged,_ “You know what, this isn’t even coffee. It’s a bitter and bland _abomination.”_

The taller woman sighed heavily, shaking her head at the theatrics, and watched as Natasha’s chest heaved from her mini outburst. She waited till Natasha had settled down before reaching into the pocket of her jeans. And Natasha’s heart all but melted when she saw the items in Maria’s hand.

She took the sachets of sugar and coffee creamer from her girlfriend, and Maria held the cup for her while Natasha opened them and emptied the powdered contents into the beverage. She sipped the coffee again and smiled to herself, _finally_ getting the taste she’d been craving.

Natasha saw the brunette watching her intently, and her own gaze softened, “I really do make you dance to my tunes, don’t I?”

 _“All day, every day,”_ Maria laughed back, “But I don’t mind.”

“Because you…” the taller woman mumbled, ducking her head, “You’re the only one I have who can do that.”

The words were rather bittersweet, and Natasha felt a tug in her heart. She pulled at their hands, making Maria look up. The brunette must have realised what Natasha wanted and she leaned forward, taking Natasha’s lips in the softest kiss.

And _this_ taste could beat the finest coffee in the whole damn world.

They stayed like that for a while, their lips locked together, before they had to break apart and breathe. The taller woman flashed her a grin before settling into her chair again.

“Now,” Maria began, “If you’re done _‘jogging your mind,’_ I’d like to hear your wish already.”

Natasha shot her a smile and began thinking, her mind running through the endless possibilities. Their conversations – from last night and today – came back to Natasha, and she knew what she wanted.

They were _well_ into their relationship by now for it.

_It’s about time I asked her to do this…_

“Dancing,” Natasha said, widening her smile, “Once we’re out of this hospital, I want you to take me dancing.”

(They’d never gone dancing – never _had the time_ to go dancing, actually – before, and Natasha couldn’t help but wonder if the lieutenant could bust a groove.)

And for some reason, Maria’s gaze turned unfathomably soft, and she brought her hand up to caress Natasha’s cheek.

“You could’ve demanded anything,” the taller woman murmured, “And yet, you ask for something so simple…”

Natasha immediately covered the brunette’s hand with her own, “I don’t have to _ask_ for you to give me what I want, Maria.”

 _You give it to me anyway,_ Natasha smiled, gazing deep into the sapphires, _every time._

“And don’t think that it’ll be _‘simple,’_ ” Natasha added, her grin turning cocky, “It’s going to be full-on _dirty_ dancing…”

“Dirty dancing it is, then,” Maria chuckled, retracting her hand and leaning back against her chair.

“And you should know, Romanoff,” the taller woman quirked up an eyebrow, “I might be a hard-ass, but my moves are _smooth.”_

“I know that _already,_ Hill,” Natasha drawled, her smirk sultry, “I know _all_ your moves…”

She wiggled her eyebrows devilishly, and the brunette blew out a chuckle, knowing which “moves” Natasha was referring to.

“We’ll see, Nat,” Maria smiled, patting Natasha’s thigh twice, “We’ll see if you’re as quick _on your feet_ as you are with your words…”

The reply was right there, but Natasha couldn’t get herself to open her mouth.

She kept staring at the taller woman’s hand, still resting on her thigh; horror filling her with the passing second.

“Maria,” Natasha rasped, her gaze flying up to look at the brunette, _“I can’t feel my legs.”_

* * *

“I can’t feel my legs.”

The silence settled into Natasha’s bones after saying the words.

Maria looked at her blankly, like she was trying to guess if this was another trick.

_I wish it was…_

The taller woman soon saw the dread on Natasha’s face – _real_ and _rapidly rising –_ and her own eyes widened in terror.

“What do you mean?” Maria murmured, running her hand down Natasha’s leg, “You can’t feel that at all?”

“I feel that, sort of,” Natasha mumbled, channelling her energy into her legs, “But I can barely move them…”

As if on cue, they heard a knock on the door, and it was pushed open a couple seconds later. A doctor stepped into the room, greeting them with a nod.

“Okay, Miss Radkova,” the doctor began, addressing Natasha by her cover name, “I’m just here to do some –”

“She can’t feel her legs, Doctor,” Maria cut him off, her voice steady but her eyes stormy, “She can feel them, actually. But she can’t move them.”

The man nodded once and paged someone before walking further in, coming close to Natasha’s bed.

“The blow to your spine might’ve caused more damage than expected,” the doctor spoke, “But the fact that you can still feel your legs is a good sign. It might indicate that the damage to the nerves isn’t permanent. We should be able know for sure in a bit…”

The doctor then explained the scenarios – from best- to worst-case – and Natasha’s apprehension increased even more. And she could see it reflected on Maria’s face, the blue eyes flashing with fright.

The door was pushed open again after a few minutes and a nurse walked in. She was carrying some machinery and she briskly walked up to Natasha, taking off the blanket covering her legs to the hook the electrode-like probes on Natasha’s shins.

The medical personnel proceeded to run the tests, and Natasha turned to look at her girlfriend. She badly wanted to reach out and hold Maria’s hand – the one that was balled into a fist against her thigh – but she knew she couldn’t. Not with them being undercover.

Maria looked at her and gave her a shaky smile: _it’ll be fine._

And Natasha knew the reassurance was for _both_ of them.

“Okay, this isn’t so bad,” the doctor finally spoke, “The tissues in your legs still have electrical activity. You might still be able to walk.”

 _“‘Might?’”_ Natasha croaked, her voice cracking as she repeated the word.

The doctor gave her a sympathetic smile, “Spinal cord injuries aren’t always reversible, Miss Radkova.”

“But you have a good shot,” the man quickly added, “A few months of physiotherapy _should_ be able to restore the full functionality to your legs.”

Natasha’s throat went dry at the words, and she felt the tears – _of despair –_ prickling at the back of her eyes.

The doctor gave her an encouraging nod before speaking again, “Okay, apart from that, everything else looks good. Your injuries haven’t harmed any internal organs – a _miracle,_ truly, given that you were a blast victim – and your vitals are all normal.”

“We can discharge you, if you want,” the man informed, “There’s no medical reason for you to stay at the hospital.”

“Yeah,” Natasha mumbled, “I’d like to go home.”

She glanced towards Maria, but the brunette didn’t meet her gaze, her eyes glued to the floor.

“Great,” the man replied, smiling kindly.

The doctor nudged Maria’s arm, making her look up, and then addressed her, “Could you come with me? I’ll draw up the paperwork for both of you, and we’ll also schedule the appointments for Miss Radkova’s physiotherapy sessions.”

The taller woman’s eyes flickered a little, but she nodded wordlessly and followed the man as they exited the room, not sparing Natasha even a single glance.

But Natasha couldn’t break down just yet, with the nurse still flitting around the bed, gathering the apparatus.

“It’s hard,” the nurse spoke suddenly, making Natasha look at her.

“The rehabilitation for such injuries is hard,” the woman continued, her voice apologetic, “Both, on the patients _and_ on the people caring for them.”

Natasha nearly burst into tears, but the nurse held her arm softly, “But you can’t lose hope. You’ll realise that at least for the first few days, it’s the only thing that’ll keep you going.”

Natasha nodded shakily, repeating the words to herself, willing for her optimism to stay intact.

 _This is all temporary. It's temporary, and I_ am _going to walk again._

“If you don’t mind me asking,” the nurse spoke again after a bit, “Who’s the woman who was with you?”

“She was quite worried about you last night,” the woman added, “She let us treat her shoulder, but waited outside the emergency room till your condition was stable and only then took the meds…”

Natasha didn’t doubt the new piece of information, knowing her girlfriend’s concern well enough by now.

And yet, for some reason, she couldn’t find an answer to give the nurse.

_Who is Maria to me?_

Her _colleague_ would be inadequate, whereas her _girlfriend_ would be inappropriate. And inadequate too, at this point.

Natasha thought back for a while and it suddenly hit her; the word that Maria hadn’t been able to say earlier.

 _“Family,”_ Natasha smiled wistfully at the nurse, “She’s family.”

* * *

 _Of course,_ Natasha had to wake up in the middle of the night with the urge to pee.

Not the _I’ll-just-sleep-it-off_ kind; the _if-I-don’t-go-now-there’s-going-to-be-waterworks_ kind.

Natasha turned her head on her pillow to look at Maria, and she found the brunette out cold beside her. The taller woman’s features seemed utterly exhausted even as she slept, the exertion of the past two days evident on her face.

They’d wrapped up the formalities at the hospital earlier that evening before getting discharged. Natasha had been given a wheelchair to use when outside, but the doctor had suggested sticking to crutches while indoors, to exercise her legs muscles as much as possible.

They’d gotten back to their house, and they hadn’t done much after that. Maria had whipped up sandwiches for their makeshift dinner, which they’d wolfed down mostly in silence, the atmosphere morose.

The brunette had then made Natasha take her medicines; the ones that made sure her body didn’t feel like… it had been in a bomb blast. After changing the bandages on Natasha’s midsection and her head, Maria had helped Natasha get to the bed, gripping Natasha’s arm tightly as she struggled to just _stand._ _Despite_ the crutches.

Maria had gone off to tend to her own wound once she was done, not even letting Natasha _see_ it. But Natasha had fallen asleep almost immediately, her body too weak to even wait till the brunette joined her.

Cut to now.

Natasha kept staring at her girlfriend’s face, contemplating whether or not to wake her up. But Maria looked far too fatigued, and Natasha couldn’t bring herself to disrupt her sleep.

Natasha simply gritted her teeth and pulled herself up into a sitting position, the simple action making her pant for breath. She grabbed the crutches propped beside the bed, and then slowly got off the mattress, her gaze fixed on the door of the washroom.

Natasha nearly collapsed as she stood up, but she somehow stabilised herself and trudged forward, her knuckles turning white as she clutched the crutches tightly.

_Come on, it’s less than 10 steps._

She made it.

Natasha made it to the washroom without falling, but she could hardly feel great about it; her legs wobbling, and her face covered with perspiration as she heaved for breath. She relieved herself and then gripped the crutches again as she exited the washroom, preparing herself to make the journey back to the bed.

But the barely-there moonlight wasn’t doing much to illuminate the room, and Natasha tripped over something right at the second step. She stumbled aimlessly, the crutches slipping from her hold, and she braced herself for impact with the cold, hard floor.

But it didn’t come.

A hand grabbed Natasha’s arm, holding her in place, and Natasha in turn gripped the wrist, somehow stopping herself from sinking to the ground.

Natasha looked up into the blue eyes: _you didn’t let me fall._

And the sapphires had the same promise Natasha had seen yesterday as Maria gazed back: _you won’t fall; not while I’m still standing._

The crutches were strewn on the floor a couple feet away, and the taller woman held Natasha’s arm tight while trying to bend down and pick them up with her other hand. But Natasha still kept slipping from her grip, unable to stay standing with her legs – her _whole body –_ feeling like lead, and she clawed at the brunette’s wrist.

“It can’t be done,” Natasha whispered, as despondently as she had last night.

But Maria’s eyes immediately hardened, _“No,_ not this time…”

Natasha hadn’t even registered the words when the taller woman bent down and hooked her injured arm behind Natasha’s knees.

Natasha looked at her in panic, realising what was about to happen, _“No,_ Maria, your shoulder –”

The taller woman paid Natasha no heed and lifted her up in her arms, carrying her bridal style.

Almost immediately, Maria’s head snapped up and a sharp groan splintered out from the base of her throat, her muscles shaking at the strain. The sight – the _sound_ – sliced through Natasha’s heart like daggers, and she found tears springing to her eyes.

_She’s in pain…_

The taller woman’s body was quaking with effort as she bore Natasha’s weight, but when she looked down, her blue orbs were determined, if still dim. Maria’s arms were quivering uncontrollably, but she somehow maintained her grip over Natasha and began walking.

They reached the bed in the next excruciating seconds, and the taller woman lowered Natasha onto the mattress, letting Natasha lean against the backrest. Maria’s arms fell limp beside her instantly, her breathing ragged and laborious after the gruelling trial, and she staggered a couple steps away from the bed.

The taller woman’s right hand came up to clutch her wounded shoulder and she swayed a little, out of Natasha’s reach. And there was absolutely _nothing_ Natasha could do when Maria’s legs buckled and she fell to her knees, her head bowed and her chest heaving.

_She’s in pain, goddammit…_

Natasha’s own body was aching, but she bent forward and stretched her hand, cupping the brunette’s cheek.

“Hey,” Natasha murmured, her thumb stroking her girlfriend’s jaw.

But Maria flinched at the touch and shifted her face out of Natasha’s hold, shaking her head.

“I… should’ve…” the taller woman croaked, not looking up yet, “… should’ve been faster…”

And Natasha just knew. Knew that Maria didn’t mean _right now._ She was referring to _last night._

 _“I should’ve been faster,”_ Maria rasped, her head still lowered, “If I hadn’t been busy _chit-chatting_ with you _,_ I would’ve defused the goddamn bomb, and none of this would’ve happened, and you’d still be able to…”

The taller woman let it trail off and dropped her good hand beside her, curling it into a tight fist.

And Natasha got what this was. The way the brunette wasn’t meeting her gaze. The way she wasn’t letting Natasha comfort her. The way she was _punishing herself_.

The way she was _still on her knees._

 _She thinks she’s responsible for my condition. So she’s asking –_ begging – _for forgiveness._

_Begging, goddammit._

Maria raised her head right then, and Natasha choked back another sob as she took in her girlfriend’s eyes; _torn by torment._

“I’m sorry,” Maria whispered, her voice cracking, _“I’m so sorry.”_

Natasha let out a growl before lunging forward and grabbing the collar of the brunette’s shirt. She yanked at it violently, pulling Maria closer to the bed.

_Can’t you see that none of this was your fault…_

“Yeah, it _was_ your fault,” Natasha began, glaring into the sapphires, “It was _your_ fault that _I_ didn’t knock that guy out fully. _Your_ fault that _I_ didn’t check him for the remote control. _Your_ fault that _I_ kept joking around and distracting you. _It was all your fault!”_

Remorse rippled across the brunette’s face and she hung her head again.

“So, here’s what’s going to happen,” Natasha muttered, gripping the fabric tighter in her hand, “I’m going to hit you really, _really_ hard, and then we’re going to call it even.”

Maria looked up and gazed at Natasha expectantly, awaiting the blow she thought she deserved. Natasha felt a roar rising in her throat at that, and she raised her other hand, balling it into a fist.

And just when the brunette was sure she would get socked, Natasha grabbed the woman’s collar with both hands and pulled her into a kiss, brutal and _bruising._

Maria let out a small grunt at the force, but she kissed Natasha back, her good hand rising to tangle into Natasha’s tresses. Natasha yanked at the brunette’s collar harder, making Maria get up and sit beside her on the bed.

“Don’t do this to yourself,” Natasha murmured against her girlfriend’s lips, _“Please…”_

Maria growled indignantly, “But you –”

“This is _not_ on you,” Natasha stopped her and pulled apart, “It was a freak incident caused by a freak.”

“And it could’ve been a _lot worse,_ if it weren’t for you,” Natasha added emphatically.

She drilled her gaze into her girlfriend’s eyes. _Willed_ for the woman to realise.

_That I’m alive and in one piece because of you._

Maria lowered her head yet again and trailed her good hand down Natasha’s leg, the touch barely perceptible to Natasha at the moment, but the devotion – the _desolation –_ in it palpable.

Maria shook her head in abject grief, _“I was going to take you dirty dancing…”_

The brunette’s broken voice raked over Natasha’s skin like shards of glass, and she barely blinked back her tears at their utterly destitute circumstances. Hooking a finger under her girlfriend’s chin, Natasha tipped the brunette's head up and covered her lips with her own, the kiss soft this time.

“I’m tired, Nat,” Maria mumbled against Natasha’s lips, “I’m so tired of the world _never giving you a break.”_

The taller woman’s voice was as frazzled as it was fractured, “It’s always just one battle after the other…”

Natasha pulled back and rested her forehead against her girlfriend’s, _beyond_ touched by her concern.

“I could be at war my whole life, Maria,” Natasha whispered, “But so long as you’re with me, I’ll be at peace.”

Natasha looked deep into the blue orbs: _I’ll fight it all for you, come what may._

Maria gave her a sad smile, the promise shining in her eyes: _and I’ll be there with you, every step of the way._

But the taller woman’s expression was still shattered, and Natasha couldn’t bear it anymore.

“And so what if we can’t go dirty dancing,” Natasha said, grinning as cheekily as she could, “You know enough moves to still give me _‘the time of my life.’”_

It took a while, but Maria caught the _Dirty Dancing_ reference – _and,_ of course, _the allusion to sex_ – and her eyes crinkled at the edges with a smile. The _first_ genuine one in the whole evening.

“Don’t ever change, Natasha,” Maria whispered, her thumb stroking Natasha’s cheek, “Always be like this: unshakeable and unbreakable…”

_I will, I promise._

“… and incorrigible and insufferable,” the taller woman added, grinning a little wider.

Natasha gave her the laugh she wanted, and Maria drew her in for another kiss, smiling into Natasha’s mouth.

Their lips moved in harmony for a while, the intimacy soothing them both, before a pained sigh left the taller woman’s lips and her head fell onto Natasha’s shoulder. Maria sagged forward, her good hand falling slack onto Natasha's lap, and Natasha held her girlfriend close, cradling the brunette in her arms, alarms going off in her mind.

“M’fine,” Maria mumbled against her neck, “I just… it’s been a really long day.”

Natasha looked down, not convinced at all, and her breath hitched as she saw the crimson stain on the taller woman’s shirt, right above the wound on her shoulder, the patch small but growing.

 _“Dammit,_ Maria,” Natasha whispered, “You’re bleeding…”

_Of course, she’s bleeding._

She’d just _carried_ Natasha halfway across the room. With a _stab wound_ on her shoulder.

Natasha reached for the buttons of the brunette’s shirt with one hand and began undoing them. She pried apart the apparel, and her heart all but broke as she took in the sight, the dressing over the injury all bloodied.

Natasha tried to reach for the ruined bandage, but Maria held her wrist and sat up straight.

“You should be resting,” the brunette murmured, “You don’t need to do all thi–”

 _“I do,”_ Natasha cut her off, her voice desperate, “I _do_ need to.”

_Just once, I need to be the one taking care of you._

Maria looked at her for a bit and then exhaled shakily, “Okay, but I’ll clean the blood first. You can help me with the dressing.”

Natasha nodded and let the brunette get up, gripping her girlfriend’s hand till she was steady on her feet. Maria shuffled over to the washroom, and Natasha watched the taller woman peel off the bandage and then dab a washcloth around her wound, wiping the blood away.

Maria finished the task soon enough and walked out, grabbing the first-aid box and a clean shirt on the way. And Natasha realised that she’d been holding her breath only when the taller woman sat down on her side of the bed.

Natasha scooted along the mattress, getting closer to her girlfriend, and took the stuff from her hand. She pulled the shirt over Maria’s arms, leaving it unbuttoned at the moment, and then gently pushed her shoulders, making her lie down, her uninjured side near Natasha.

Natasha then reached for the required materials from the first-aid box and shifted her focus to the wound, right above the joint in Maria’s shoulder, an inch away from her bra strap.

The cut was small – as one would expect a Swiss knife to cause – but the wound looked far too mutilated, as if… as if the blade had been _twisted._

And Natasha couldn’t stop the sound escaping her lips; something between a sob and a snarl.

“I hate it when you do this,” Natasha muttered, glowering at the brunette, “Act like your pain is lesser than mine.”

She didn’t realise that the tears had fallen onto her cheeks until Maria raised her good hand and gently brushed them away.

“I can’t do that, Nat,” the taller woman whispered, “Not when you act like you aren’t in any pain at all.”

Natasha’s gaze instantly mellowed and she leaned down, brushing her lips over her girlfriend’s, unable to find the words to reply. She pulled back quickly and began the task, covering the wound with gauze swabs and then taping fresh bandages over it.

Once she was done, Natasha buttoned up the brunette’s shirt and then stashed away the materials in the chest of drawers near her side of the bed. She turned to face Maria again, and the taller woman had already put out her good arm for Natasha. Flashing her girlfriend a smile, Natasha laid herself down, resting her temple on the taller woman’s shoulder.

Maria adjusted herself to ensure that she wasn’t pressing against the wound at the back of Natasha’s head. She then curled her arm around Natasha, and Natasha snuggled further into the taller woman’s side, a contented sigh escaping her lips.

“I’m tired too, Maria,” Natasha whispered, echoing her girlfriend’s words from before, “Of the world never giving _us_ a break.”

The taller woman dropped a light kiss on the crown of Natasha’s head, on the tuft of hair that wasn’t covered by the bandage.

“So very _communist_ of you,” Maria chuckled softly.

It was the reference from earlier that evening, and Natasha laughed back fondly. The moment was interrupted when Maria’s phone suddenly began buzzing, on the small table near the brunette’s injured side.

Maria started moving her wounded arm to get the device, but Natasha stopped her. She leaned over her girlfriend’s torso, ignoring the ache in her own body as she stretched, and grabbed the phone. Returning to her position, Natasha accepted the call and put the device on speakerphone, recognising the number.

“I wasn’t really expecting to check up on you so soon, Agents.”

Fury’s tone was a mix of confused and concerned, and Natasha rolled her eyes.

“You could’ve checked on us _in the morning,_ Sir,” Natasha muttered, “In case you aren’t aware of the time difference, it’s 2 a.m. out here.”

Fury huffed at the other end, “I figured you wouldn’t be getting much sleep anyway, amidst all the fireworks.”

Maria looked at her, and they winced at the Director’s words: _he knows all about it._

“Relax, Agents,” Fury spoke, reading their thought, “Your covers are intact. The news reports only say that _‘two unnamed Americans’_ were responsible for turning India’s _‘most extravagant’_ marriage into an _‘all the more explosive affair.’”_

“Okay, that’s wrong on so many levels,” Natasha huffed into the phone.

“Firstly, I’m _Russian,”_ Natasha all but growled.

And Maria promptly muffled her laugh into Natasha’s hair.

“And secondly,” Natasha said, pausing to look up at the brunette, “We saved that wedding.”

If there was any shred of this whole clusterfuck that made it even infinitesimally worth it, it was that they’d saved that wedding. And everyone attending it, of course. (And the palace).

(A tad subjective; about the palace, but still.)

“Yes, you did,” Fury replied, his voice soft, “And I know it came at a price. I’ve checked the local hospital records.”

The Director sighed at the other end, “Look, if you guys want to pull out of the op and come back home to recuperate, I would understand…”

Natasha looked up at the taller woman again, and shook her head: _tell him it isn’t necessary; tell him that you’ll manage._

Maria’s gaze mellowed before she spoke into the phone, “It’s fine, Sir. The wedding-fiasco was just a… an unforeseen adventure. The mission, otherwise, is non-combat anyway.”

 _“We’ll_ manage,” the taller woman whispered, her eyes locked with Natasha’s.

And Natasha just had to smile back, moved by her girlfriend’s conviction. 

"That’s good to hear, Agents,” Fury replied, his tone genuinely appreciative, “And I’ll pray – from the bottom of my heart – that Ahuja doesn’t decide to get married again. At least not in the next two months.”

The Director ended the call with that, and they gaped at the phone, wondering if that last bit was supposed to be some kind of a joke in Fury-nese.

Natasha simply huffed and then kept the phone aside, laying her head down on Maria’s shoulder again, her freed hand resting on her girlfriend’s midsection. They stayed silent after that, the adrenaline – of the past two days – finally draining away, and Natasha could feel the brunette’s breathing settling into a slow pattern under her palm.

“Hey, Nat?” Maria stirred after a bit.

Natasha looked up at her, “Yeah?”

“We’ll manage, right?” the taller woman mumbled, her voice paper-thin.

Maria was on the brink of falling asleep, but her barely-open eyes were still desperate, like she needed to hear it from Natasha. Needed to know, one last time, that Natasha was okay.

Natasha craned her neck and pecked her girlfriend’s chin, “Yeah, we will.”

Just like that, a dopey smile broke out on Maria’s face and then her eyes drifted close. Natasha simply looked down and sighed to herself, letting the soft rhythm of her girlfriend’s breathing lull her towards oblivion.

She could feel the darkness taking over, and she glanced up at the brunette a final time: _and we will have that dance._

It was a vow.

_A vow that I’ll fulfil no matter how._


	3. The Proposal

_1 year later…_

Just kidding, _God,_ that would be cruel.

_1 month later…_

#### The Widow

Natasha woke up that morning, and she just _knew._

That it was the D-Day.

And, _oh,_ she was ready.

Natasha had been planning it for the past week now, and she was _ready._ Hell, she had the whole thing _choreographed._

She glanced at Maria, asleep beside her on the bed, the sliver of sunrays coming from the opening in the curtains making her hair glisten.

Usually, the brunette was _incredibly_ calm when she slept. But _today,_ one of her arms was strewn over Natasha’s midsection, curled around Natasha’s waist. Like she’d wanted to pull them even closer.

And Natasha nearly squealed in delight, relishing the rare moment of the hard-ass lieutenant being handsy. She simply gazed at her girlfriend, her hand itching to shift aside the stray bangs falling over the brunette’s face.

Natasha almost _did_ move them, eager for Maria to wake up already. But then she held herself back, remembering the bigger surprise she had planned for her girlfriend.

_She deserves a grand p–_

“You going to keep watching me sleep? Like some kind of a creep?”

Maria opened just one eye as she mumbled the words, her voice a tad hoarse, the lazy half-grin on her lips making her look even more adorable.

Natasha chuckled back gruffly, finally giving in to the temptation and brushing aside the wisps of the dark brown hair away from her girlfriend’s face.

“I like watching you sleep,” Natasha revealed, her smile turning coy, “You’re just so cute.”

_And so utterly peaceful._

“Uh-huh,” Maria hummed, squeezing Natasha’s hip, “And you’re a creep.”

“The same word in back-to-back sentences?” Natasha teased, “Looks like you’re slacking, Agent Cohesive-and-comprehensive-else-you-shall-not-live…”

“Give me a break, Romanoff,” the brunette protested half-heartedly, “Not everyone’s all bright-and-perky first thing in the morning.”

“Oh, you’re perky, alright,” Natasha purred immediately, “You’re _perfectly_ perky.”

She shifted her eyes down and stared at her girlfriend’s chest, as if she could see right through the t-shirt that Maria was wearing. Natasha kept her gaze there for a bit before looking up at the blue eyes again, the simper on her lips _unapologetically_ _lecherous_.

And sure enough, the taller woman’s cheeks turned red and she retracted her arm, using the same hand to pull the duvet higher up over her torso. (Like _that_ would make a difference).

 _“Minx,”_ Maria all but squeaked.

And Natasha didn’t bother curbing her chuckle, thoroughly _endeared_ by her girlfriend’s flustered look. It bloomed into a full-blown laugh when Maria cleared her throat breathlessly as she tried to regroup.

The taller woman shook her head (fondly?) before speaking, “How even are you so _awake?”_

“It’s only –” Maria paused, turning to grab her phone from the side table, “– 7:02 in the mo– _oh, crap!”_

The taller woman bolted upright on the bed, “I have a meeting at 8 later, and it’s at some hotel out of town, and _dammit,_ I’m going to be late.”

(Top item on Hill’s Hate List: being late. Top item on Hill’s _Hit_ List: _anyone who practices_ being late.)

Natasha propped herself up on an elbow, “Ahuja’s making you work on a _Saturday?_ That too on _New Year’s Eve?”_

“Yeah,” Maria mumbled, “We’re supposed to have some not-so-official discussions with his _‘friends’_ at the Department of Commerce.”

The taller woman tossed the phone onto the mattress and hopped off the bed, hurrying over to the washroom to get ready.

“Is it anything to worry about?” Natasha called out, watching her girlfriend brush her teeth frenziedly.

“No, just some routine stuff,” Maria replied, pausing to rinse her mouth, “It’s regarding the recent report that _you_ turned in, actually. Ahuja said that I could go on your behalf, since I’m familiar with the work anyway.”

Natasha nodded at what had become the norm for the past month.

Given that prancing around the office in a wheelchair (for the initial week only, _thank you very much)_ and then crutches wasn’t the most fun thing ever, Ahuja had allowed Natasha to work remotely. (He kind of _had_ to agree to Natasha’s terms, considering that they’d saved his whole clan’s ass).

Natasha had been given the necessary resources to work from home, and the extra bedroom in the house had promptly been converted into a mini (and sort of _messy)_ office. Whenever it was required, Natasha would brief Maria on her own reports and the taller woman would serve as Natasha’s stand-in at meetings.

In other words, Natasha’s “job” – and their _mission –_ had more or less progressed seamlessly. Despite the _One Wedding and Many Funerals_ movie that they’d almost starred in a month ago. And _thankfully,_ the only _action_ that they’d had for the rest of the op thus far was the kind that happened under the sheets. And _over_ them, at times. And on the couch in the living room. And –

_We, uh, we christened most of the house, essentially._

“It’s supposed to be a half-day thing, though,” Maria spoke, and Natasha’s focus was dragged back, “The meeting should end by noon.”

The taller woman came out to grab a set of clothes from their wardrobe and then rushed back to the washroom. Natasha continued lazing around on the bed, mulling over the fact that she’d have to postpone her plans to later that day.

_Well, I’ve waited so many days, what’s another few hours…_

Maria finished her washroom-business in record time, and she came out drying her hair with her towel, her shirt already tucked into her pants. She proceeded to walk out of the bedroom, probably to the kitchen, and Natasha suddenly realised that she was _still_ in bed.

_Dammit. Should’ve headed out and whipped up some breakfast…_

“It’s okay,” Maria spoke from outside, as if she’d read the thought, “I don’t have time to eat anyway. I’ll just grab something from outside.”

The taller woman came back to the bedroom, and walked up to the dressing table, reaching for the hairdryer. Natasha simply sat up on the bed, resting against the backrest as she watched her girlfriend get ready.

“Hey, you’ll manage lunch, right?” Maria spoke after a bit, turning off the hairdryer, “Or should I get something for us on the way back?”

Natasha scoffed, “You forget that I manage my lunch on the weekdays, when you’re at the office.”

It was true. The crutches and the legs-feeling-like-bricks part made it a lot more taxing, but Natasha was able to do a lot of the chores on her own. And Maria had _let_ her do them, without interfering more than what was required, without _wounding her pride._

“Yeah, I know,” the taller woman replied, reaching for her comb, “But it’s my turn on weekends…”

“It’s fine, I’ll handle it,” Natasha said, watching her girlfriend tie her hair back into a ponytail, “I’ve been meaning to try this new dish Priya taught me.”

Maria grabbed the bottle of perfume and then turned around, “I see, you and Mrs Ahuja have become _quite_ the BFFs…”

 _“Hardly,”_ Natasha huffed, “She’s just very grateful to us, after everything that went down at their wedding. So, she drops by once in a while, to check on me.”

Natasha had hung out with Ahuja’s better-half several times by now, and they actually _had_ come to develop a nice friendship. And, _inevitably,_ the woman had ended up learning the oh-so-very-fraternising nature of Natasha’s relationship with Maria.

She’d obviously told her husband _(this_ stuff they talk about, of course), but Ahuja had been quite fine with it. (Again, he kind of had to be). He had even spared them the gossip by not mentioning it to anyone else at the office.

“Yeah,” Maria chuckled, spritzing herself with some Dior, “Ahuja tells me about the little “tea-parties” that you guys have. He keeps joking about how it could be a part of _The_ _Real Housewives_ series, if they ever made a spin-off here in India…”

Natasha narrowed her eyes murderously, “How dare you, Hill? _Neither_ of us is a housewife, and you _both_ know it.”

The taller woman instantly raised her hands in the air, establishing a truce.

“If it helps,” Maria said, “Ahuja and I – well, _Karan_ and I – have gotten rather chummy too. He’s come to me a couple times, when he needed a “female perspective” on matters. Concerning his missus. You know, the _would-she-like-this_ kind of matters.”

“It’s cute,” the brunette laughed, “He’s known the woman for 2 years – _and he’s a_ _multi-millionaire –_ and yet, he’d be nervous about some sappy gift he’s gotten her…”

“Ah, young love,” Natasha hummed, rather sagely, “Treating the first few months of marriage as the _best-couple-ever_ contest.”

 _“‘Young love?’”_ Maria scoffed, and then chuckled, “You do know he’s our age, right? Maybe even older.”

They laughed together for a bit, and then the brunette walked over to the desk beside the dressing table and began packing her things into her laptop bag.

“Speaking of BFFs and wives, actually,” Maria spoke, “Laura had called, couple days ago. I was still at the office, so I’m not sure if she tried reaching you after talking to me.”

She _hadn’t._ And Natasha instantly panicked.

“Did she, uh…” Natasha mumbled, “Did she mention anything _specific?”_

Maria finished her task and then looked up, “Apart from Barton and his spawn giving her hell, nope.”

Natasha heaved a sigh of relief. _Discreetly._

_So, the soldier doesn’t know yet…_

She gave the brunette a nod, and then Maria slung her satchel over her shoulder, turning to leave, now that she was ready.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, soldier?” Natasha called out after her girlfriend.

Maria wheeled around and studied her for a bit before it dawned upon her, “Oh, right.”

And then, _much_ to Natasha’s bafflement, the brunette _walked_ _out of the room,_ instead of coming over to the bed and giving Natasha a kiss. Like she always did before leaving for the office.

(Of course, _usually,_ they’d be at the dining table, having the eggs or pancakes or cereal or whatever Maria had put together for breakfast.)

The taller woman trudged back in soon enough and walked up to the bed, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand.

“Please,” Maria said, passing the cup to Natasha, “Get off your ass and brush your teeth before drinking that.”

Natasha rolled her eyes at the command as she took the cup, even though she was touched by the gesture.

Maria then picked the crutches off the floor – they must have slid down to the ground during the night – and propped them against the bedside table, within Natasha’s reach.

Natasha flashed the brunette a smile and raised her eyebrows, waiting for her kiss. But Maria only returned a grin and then turned around to walk out.

And Natasha reached for her hand to stop her, “Are you sure there isn’t _anything else_ you’re forgetting?”

Maria stared at her yet again, and then her eyes softened, “Of course…”

The taller woman bent down, and Natasha sat up straighter on the bed, eager for her girlfriend to _finally_ take her –

Phone.

Maria turned her face away before their lips could meet and picked _her phone_ off the mattress, beside Natasha. The one that she’d absently tossed aside when she’d gotten off the bed earlier that morning.

The taller woman stood up straight, slipping the phone into the pocket of her pants. And Natasha could see it – the _mirth –_ in the blue eyes, and she knew that _Maria_ knew.

_She knows what I want._

Natasha tugged at her girlfriend’s hand and all but pouted, “Where’s my goodbye-kiss?”

“Two words, Romanoff,” Maria answered, grinning shrewdly, _“Morning. Breath.”_

And Natasha sputtered out an offended scoff, trying to muster her best death-glare. But it only _amused_ the taller woman, and she chuckled back fondly.

“I like to start my day with something sweet,” Maria added, smirking triumphantly.

“You know what,” Natasha muttered, “Since _you’re_ not listening to _me,_ I don’t see why _I_ should listen to _you…”_

Natasha raised an eyebrow haughtily as she brought the cup to her lips, taking a _deliberate_ sip of the beverage, her gaze locked with Maria’s.

The coffee was perfect – with milk and cream and sugar, _exactly_ how Natasha liked it – but Natasha maintained the cocky look as she _brazenly_ disobeyed her girlfriend’s order.

And Natasha hadn’t even licked the foam off her lips when Maria bent down again and cupped her cheek, drawing her in for a kiss. And Natasha smiled into her girlfriend’s mouth, her free hand rising to grab Maria’s collar, pulling her even closer.

The taller woman broke apart soon and smacked her lips, savouring the aftertaste of the kiss – of the _coffee,_ Natasha realised – and then grinned wolfishly.

“Told you,” Maria said, the blue eyes dancing with mischief, “I like to start my day with something sweet.”

But Natasha couldn’t have returned a smart retort even if she’d wanted to.

“Always my enabler, aren’t you?” Natasha murmured, gripping the collar tighter, her knuckles brushing against her girlfriend’s neck.

The sapphires instantly flickered, and Maria’s smile faltered, “Not always…”

And Natasha knew what the brunette meant.

The dance.

That they still hadn’t been able to have.

Natasha left the collar and raised the same hand, brushing her thumb over her girlfriend’s jaw, _“Always.”_

Maria’s hand came up to hold Natasha’s, and then she straightened herself, a shaky smile on her lips. And Natasha returned a much wider one, waiting for the shimmer to return to the blue orbs.

“Anyway,” Maria exhaled eventually, “I’ve got to go now.”

Natasha nodded and squeezed her girlfriend’s fingers, hoping the rather house-wife-y message was conveyed: _drive safe._

(Was that even house-wife-y? Or was it just regular _wife-y?)_

“Better hurry back, soldier,” Natasha drawled, grinning impishly, “There’ll be some _real_ hot stuff here waiting for you.”

 _“Can’t wait,”_ Maria smirked back, “There’s nothing like coming back to a warm, home-cooked _lunch…”_

_Oh. That’s how we’re playing._

_“Hot,_ Hill,” Natasha retorted, jumping into the game, “It’ll be _hot._ And _spicy,_ the way Indian food is…”

“The way _my girlfriend_ is,” Maria corrected, not missing a beat.

A treacherous grin nearly broke out on Natasha’s face, but she morphed it into a smirk, “But you like it _sweet,_ don’t you?”

_Come on, she can’t possibly beat that…_

_“I do,”_ Maria replied, her grin still wicked, “They _all_ like it sweet. It wouldn’t be called _‘dessert’_ otherwise, would it?”

 _And_ she’d thrown in a sex-pun. That’s extra points right there.

Natasha chuckled instantly, and Maria joined her, the banter never getting old.

The taller woman bent down again and pecked Natasha’s temple – _a bonus forehead-kiss, yes! –_ before straightening herself and then walking out.

And the silly smile stayed on Natasha’s lips long after she’d heard the sound of the car driving off.

She absently brought the cup she was holding to her lips, but then stopped herself before taking a sip. The aroma of the coffee was tempting enough, but Natasha remembered her girlfriend’s instruction. Placing the cup on the bedside table, Natasha shifted her gaze to the washroom.

_Brush my teeth, I shall._

What was that saying? About patience? That its fruit is sweet, right?

Well, just like her girlfriend, _sweet_ was exactly the way Natasha liked it.

* * *

Natasha glanced towards the clock for _nth_ time that day.

It was late afternoon, and Natasha was waiting for her girlfriend to return, so that they could have the lunch she’d prepared about _2 years_ ago.

The meeting had run over, and Maria had texted her to just go ahead and eat without her. But Natasha didn’t have the heart to, so she was watching some random action flick on the TV in their living room to pass her time.

Natasha finally saw it from the window – the Chevrolet driving up to their house – and she turned off the TV, sitting up straighter on the couch. The door was opened in the next minute, and an utterly _exasperated_ Maria Hill walked in.

Natasha smiled at her girlfriend, but the taller woman only gave her a half-assed hand wave, appearing _supremely_ bummed out by something. Per her routine, Maria trudged over to their bedroom, and Natasha waited for her girlfriend to freshen up.

The brunette soon came out into the living room, wearing her home clothes, and flopped down onto the couch beside Natasha.

 _“Politics,”_ Maria grumbled, “America, India; it’s all the same everywhere. Hell, we could be on _Mars,_ and the politics there would still _suck.”_

Natasha chuckled back, “The meeting with the government lackeys was a blast, I take it?”

“Oh, the meeting was fine,” the taller woman replied, “I’m talking about _office_ politics.”

Natasha nudged her girlfriend’s arm, “Okay, how about you tell me everything as we have lunch?”

Maria’s gaze flew up: _you haven’t eaten yet?_

And Natasha merely shrugged: _of course, not; not without you._

The brunette shook her head as she got off the couch. Natasha reached for her crutches, propped against the couch, but she was stopped by her girlfriend’s voice.

“Wait,” Maria said, “I’ll bring the dishes here.”

The taller woman made a couple trips to the kitchen as she brought the food and dishes out to the dining table. She then grabbed the serving spoon and began transferring scoops of the rice onto their plates.

“So,” Maria began, “Not sure if you know, but Ahuja’s hosting this big New Year’s Eve party later tonight, at his farmhouse.”

“Some of the guys from the office have been invited,” the brunette went on, still amidst her task, “And they asked me to tag along.”

“I obviously told them no,” Maria said, looking at Natasha for a bit, “Because _you_ wouldn’t be able to join. We have your physio session later in the evening, and I know how tired you get after those exercises.”

“Plus,” the taller woman added, “I know you hate going among crowded places with the crutches.”

 _Oh, yeah,_ Natasha winced internally, _the struggle is so real._

Maria then reached for the pot of curry, the ladle clanging against the glass as the brunette poured it into their bowls.

“Of course, I couldn’t give them _those_ reasons,” Maria muttered, her tone utterly miffed, “And so –”

“Let me guess,” Natasha supplied, “They pestered you till you either agreed to go or told them why you couldn’t?”

The taller woman paused in her work, her shoulders slumping, “And as if that wasn’t enough, _Ahuja_ himself played the _you-can’t-say-no-to-your-boss_ card, and I had to cave in.”

 _“So, yeah,”_ Maria sighed miserably, “I’m going to be out tonight, drinking with strangers, while my exhausted girlfriend will have to spend New Year’s Eve all by herself…”

The taller woman simply hung her head, standing near the dining table. Natasha could feel the frustration rolling off her girlfriend in waves, and she sighed to herself.

_Well, screw the choreography. She needs this right now._

“So, you got bullied by Ahuja, huh,” Natasha began, making the brunette look up, “His _wife_ is no less, you know.”

“She’d called earlier to invite me to that same party,” Natasha explained, “And, just like you, I fell prey to the _you-can’t-say-no-to-your-boss’s-wife_ card.”

She flashed her girlfriend a toothy grin, “So, there, soldier: problem solved.”

Maria furrowed her eyebrows, “But your physio session –”

“The doctor cancelled today’s appointment…” Natasha cut her off, her smile turning nervous.

With that, Natasha got off the couch and began walking towards her girlfriend. There was nothing particularly extraordinary about it, except, oh, _she wasn’t using her crutches._

Maria’s eyes widened with shock, and Natasha flashed her a wider grin before finishing, “… _and all the future appointments.”_

The taller woman kept gaping as Natasha got closer, her strides still slower than they used to be, but _steady_ , nevertheless.

 _Well, I have_ _been practicing…_

Natasha had achieved the feat earlier that week, but she’d waited till today to let herself get used to it. And to make it a big reveal to her girlfriend, who’d been so damn _amazing_ this past month.

_It’s as much her victory as it is mine._

Maria eventually found her voice, and she chuckled breathlessly, _“Jesus,_ Natasha, you’re… you’re…”

The brunette couldn’t continue, her mouth opening and closing, her gaze fixed on Natasha’s legs as she approached her.

“Walking, yeah,” Natasha supplied, her grin growing with each step.

The taller woman shook her head in awe, _“Without your crutches.”_

Maria rushed ahead to meet Natasha halfway, the blue eyes overflowing with wonder. They reached each other in the next couple seconds, and the taller woman held Natasha by her arms, her eyes still locked on Natasha’s legs, like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“You’re _walking,”_ Maria murmured, not looking up yet, _“You’re walking.”_

And Natasha knew that the woman was talking to _herself,_ the reality finally sinking in.

She raised her hand and cupped her girlfriend’s cheek, “I think it’s safe to say that I’ve made _‘outstanding’_ progress.”

The pun couldn’t have _sucked_ more than it did, but Maria didn’t even register it. She left Natasha’s arms and then whirled around, hiding her face from Natasha. The taller woman’s hands rose, and she pressed her palms against her eyes.

And Natasha’s breath got caught in her throat.

_Is she…?_

Natasha quickly shuffled around the brunette, coming over to the front so that she could see her girlfriend’s face, and her heart stopped as she took in the sight.

_Oh my God, she is…_

Natasha’s fingers trembled as she pried the brunette’s hands apart, her own thumbs brushing away the quiet tears rolling down her girlfriend’s cheeks.

In all the time that Natasha had known the hard-ass lieutenant, she had _never_ seen Maria cry, and Natasha could hardly believe that _this_ had made the woman tear up.

It was just so _moving,_ it nearly brought Natasha to her knees.

“Hey,” Natasha murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“No, no, I just…” Maria laughed a little, “I’m just really, _really_ happy.”

And Natasha didn’t realise that she was crying herself until the taller woman’s hands came up and her knuckles brushed the tears aside. Natasha flashed her girlfriend a watery smile, and Maria pulled her into a hug, her hand running down Natasha’s back.

“You did it,” the taller woman whispered, her voice heavy with emotions.

Natasha instantly tightened the embrace, “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Maria huffed fondly, “I didn’t do anything, Nat.”

_Of course, she thinks so…_

“Yeah, you didn’t,” Natasha sighed, “You didn’t treat me any differently. Didn’t smother me. Didn’t _pity_ me.”

And that was true. This whole month, the taller woman had watched Natasha struggle, but she’d never made Natasha feel like she was made of glass. And she’d never let Natasha fall either. Not once.

 _“You didn’t give up on me,_ ” Natasha exhaled, her voice cracking.

Natasha remembered those first few physiotherapy sessions, when simply crossing a dozen metres was a painstaking task, despite having the parallel bars for support. She remembered the utter _despondence_ as she’d hung her head defeatedly, her body feeling like it would collapse any second.

And she remembered Maria’s words of encouragement (“Come on, Romanoff, stop being such a wuss!”), that had become a regular chant in her mind.

It was the best thing anyone could have said to her at that time.

Natasha nipped at her girlfriend’s neck, “You were just what I needed, Maria.”

_A hill._

Immovable and infallible.

Maria’s support had been patient and persistent. And reverent and resilient.

And _silent._

“And don’t ever say you didn’t do anything,” Natasha murmured, fisting the brunette’s shirt, “Because you _did,_ and you know it.”

And Maria _had._ Fulfilled every need – every _want –_ that Natasha had ever had.

The taller woman pulled out of the hug and placed a devout kiss on Natasha’s forehead, her arms still circling Natasha’s waist.

“You did it, Nat,” Maria whispered, a radiant smile on her lips.

And Natasha just had to shake her head, _ever_ amazed by her girlfriend’s humility.

_Always taking care, never credit._

Natasha framed the brunette’s face with her palms and pulled her down, covering her lips, pouring every ounce of her veneration into the kiss.

“No, Maria,” Natasha hummed against her girlfriend’s lips, _“We_ did it.”

The taller woman didn’t say anything and simply deepened the kiss, her fingers tangling in Natasha’s tresses. Their lips moved together for a while before Natasha pulled apart.

“We did it,” Natasha repeated, drilling her gaze into the sapphires.

_Come on, soldier. Take what you’ve rightfully earned._

Maria smiled back wordlessly once more and drew her in for another kiss, her arm snaking around Natasha’s waist.

And Natasha knew she had to change her tactic.

 _“We did it,_ soldier,” Natasha said yet again, grinning devilishly as she pulled back, “We did _it_ several times. In the bed. On my office desk. On _your_ _–”_

 _“Okay, yes,”_ Maria scoffed fondly, _“We_ did it. Happy?”

_Works like a charm. Every time._

_“Very,”_ Natasha grinned back immediately.

“Now, shut _up,”_ Maria huffed, struggling to stifle her own smile, _“And_ _kiss me.”_

And this time, Natasha _did_ do it.

* * *

“Damn, Hill. Way to crap all over my hopes…”

Natasha turned in her seat as she said the words, and Maria rolled her eyes, her fingers drumming on the steering wheel of the car.

Their already-late lunch had been delayed some more, since they’d ended up… _celebrating,_ to put it delicately. (Let’s just say that they saw stars in broad daylight.)

After having their food (eventually), they’d spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing. And then, Maria had suddenly perked up and insisted that _there’s-this-place-that-you’ve-got-to-see._ And voilà, here they were, at the magical spot Maria had wanted to show her.

Except it _wasn’t_ magical, from what Natasha was staring at in front of the car, and it wasn’t a _spot._

The brunette had basically brought them out in the wilderness, and they seemed to be in the middle of some kind of a ravine.

“We haven’t reached there yet, Romanoff,” Maria huffed, “Have you no patience at all?”

“Oh, I’m more patient than you’ll know,” Natasha replied instantly.

The taller woman fell silent at that, her eyes studying Natasha quizzically. And Natasha simply gazed back, her expression as neutral as she could keep it.

“Anyway,” Maria said after a bit, “We have to leave the car here to go further.”

Natasha looked out of the window – at the _cliffs_ on either side of the car – and she understood the brunette’s plan.

“Seriously, Hill?” Natasha scoffed, “Your girlfriend finally walks on her own after a whole month, and the first thing you do is take her hiking?”

“I’ve been meaning to come here with you for quite some time,” Maria replied, her voice quiet this time, “Ever since our op started, actually. But we couldn’t until now…”

The taller woman’s eyes flickered a little before she smiled shakily, “The view from up there is awesome, I promise.”

Natasha didn’t speak for a while, letting the brunette stew in her nervousness. And just when the woman would pop a vein, Natasha put on her widest smile.

“Just so you know,” Natasha said, her grin turning sly, “We didn’t really have to drive out here. I could’ve _‘climbed a hill’_ back at home too.”

She added a wink, and Maria shook her head at the lame-as-hell quip, her smile indulgent as always.

They proceeded to exit the vehicle, both of them getting rid of the creases in their clothes. They were both wearing jeans and form-fitting t-shirts, the outfits casual-yet-chic. The taller woman grabbed her jacket from her seat and then walked over to Natasha’s side as she wore it.

Maria poked her head into the car once again, reaching for the glove compartment, and Natasha waited for her girlfriend to take whatever she was taking. The taller woman reappeared soon, one hand adjusting the lapel of her jacket, the other one holding a bottle of water. And Natasha eyed it for a bit, unable to recall _when_ Maria had even kept it in there.

“That glovebox is like the Cave of Wonders,” Natasha scoffed playfully, “With all its hidden treasures.”

Maria grinned back, “You might just be right.”

They chuckled a little, and then began the journey up the mountain.

Well, the _mountain_ wasn’t so high, Natasha realised as she squinted in the evening sun. And there was a thin strip of the land that was clear of the vegetation, probably created by the several previous hikers who must have come here.

But the walk was still rather arduous, given Natasha’s just-fully-functioning legs, and she hoped that her wheezing wasn’t audible amidst the chirping of birds and insects around in the foliage.

“Hey, spider! Watch out!” Maria suddenly spoke, freezing in her stride.

Natasha stopped in her tracks, her gaze scanning her own arms and legs, “Where?”

She found a hand cupping her cheek, and a warm pair of lips covering hers as the taller woman kissed her softly.

“Right here,” Maria hummed, a loving smile on her face as she pulled back.

Natasha grasped the trick and she laughed, the sound blithe if still breathless.

The taller woman handed Natasha the water bottle, and Natasha’s heart all but melted, understanding the _intention_ behind her girlfriend’s slick manoeuvre. She drank the water slowly, taking the time to give her legs some much-required rest, and Maria simply watched her fondly.

Natasha passed the bottle back to the brunette once she was done, “Do I get a kiss every time we make a pit stop?”

“Wouldn’t you just love that deal?” Maria replied, a lopsided grin tugging at her lips.

The sapphires didn’t even have to soften for Natasha to read the plea in her girlfriend’s eyes: _tell me when you need to take a break next time._

 _I won’t,_ Natasha wanted to say, _because you’ll know it anyway, like you always do._

“Sure, I would,” Natasha answered, her own gaze mellow, “Plus, I’m sure we’ll run into several spiders on the way.”

“Yeah,” Maria smiled, like she’d heard the implied promise, “We probably will.”

The taller woman bent down and pecked Natasha’s lips lightly, “But they’d have nothing on the Black Widow.”

Flashing each other the fondest grins, they began walking again.

And it was all uphill from there.

* * *

Oh, it was _so_ worth it.

Natasha was panting by the time they made it to the top, about half-an-hour later, but the breath-taking view from the summit made every bit of her exhaustion evaporate.

They could see the whole town from up here, and the rest of the mountain range, stretching as far as the eye could see, and it was all just picture-postcard pretty. There was no one apart from them over here, and Natasha could feel it; the sanctity of solitude.

She blew out a fond huff and then turned to look at her girlfriend, “Okay, Hill, spill it.”

“Spill what?” Maria replied, shifting to face her, a half-grin on her lips.

“Well, the view _is_ awesome, as you’d promised,” Natasha said, “But that’s obviously not the _only_ reason you brought me up here.”

The taller woman’s smile turned anxious and she ducked her head, her hand rising to scratch the back of her neck.

Maria looked up after a bit, her eyes sparkling, “You’re right…”

With that, the brunette reached into her jacket pocket, and Natasha’s heart began thundering in her rib-cage.

_Is that a –_

Phone. _Again._

Natasha gnashed her teeth as she watched Maria pull out _her phone;_ willing her breaths to even out.

_Goddammit, how many times am I going to fall for that?_

“I believe I owe you a dance,” Maria said, that adorable lopsided grin on her lips.

_Oh, finally…_

“Yes, soldier,” Natasha replied solemnly, “Yes, you do.”

The brunette fiddled with the device for a bit, and then the soft ballroom notes began wafting in the air. Maria increased the volume and then tucked the phone back into her pocket, holding the now-freed hand out for Natasha to take.

Natasha flashed her girlfriend a smile and then grabbed Maria’s hand, stepping forward and placing her other hand on the taller woman’s shoulder. Maria rested her free palm on Natasha’s hip, and then they began moving.

The wind blew around them, light and lilting, as they danced, their smiles growing with every whirl, every twirl. They glided around each other fluidly, the steps progressing on their own, as if they’d practiced the routine forever. And Natasha could hardly believe that she was slow-dancing with _the_ Hard-ass Hill.

It wasn’t the ambience, or their chemistry, or their spontaneity that was making the dance special. It was everything they’d gone through to get here. Physically and emotionally.

“Not bad, soldier,” Natasha murmured, “One would’ve thought you had two left feet…”

 _“‘Left feet?’”_ Maria scoffed, _“Please,_ Romanoff, I’m whooping your ass right now.”

 _“I’m_ _trained,_ Hill," Natasha huffed back cockily, _"_ _In ballet._ And I could _totally –”_

The rest of the sentence got lost in the air when the taller woman gripped Natasha’s hand tighter and spun her around in a swift circle, catching her and then dipping down.

Maria arched up an eyebrow, the _sexiest_ smirk on her lips, “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

And Natasha simply laughed back breathlessly, _literally_ swept off her feet by the move. By _Maria_.

The taller woman soon let Natasha straighten herself, their eyes never leaving each other. Natasha’s chest was heaving after their flurry of actions, and Maria held her securely while bringing out her phone with her free hand to turn off the music. They found a rather large, somewhat flat rock several feet away from them, and they shuffled over to it to sit down, enjoying the sunset as they caught their breaths.

“You still up for that party later tonight?” Maria spoke eventually, “I’ll text Ahuja that we can’t make it, if you’re too tuckered out.”

Natasha shot her a silly grin, “First rule of life, Hill: never deny free food. _Second_ rule of life: never, _ever_ deny free booze. And _third_ rule –”

“Never forget rules 1 and 2?” Maria supplied, physically resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

 _“Well done!”_ Natasha exclaimed – in Russian – and then chuckled, “You’ve just topped Romanoff 101 with a perfect A!”

 _“Oh, please,”_ Maria scoffed – in Russian as well – and rolled her eyes, “I’m the only one crazy enough to be _in_ that class, _Professor.”_

Natasha stuck out her tongue, recalling the reference – from a month ago – and the brunette shook her head, the half-grin on her lips nearly morphing into a proper laugh.

“You know,” Natasha said, her voice sombre this time, “Your Russian is pretty good.”

They never actively spoke in Russian (except during the nightmares) but Natasha knew the woman was rather fluent in the language.

Maria chuckled back, almost reflexively, “Yeah, well, I’ve had a lot of practice.”

The brunette realised what she’d revealed, and her expression faltered a little. She quickly schooled her features and smiled casually.

“I always meant to ask you,” Natasha nudged her arm, “Why did you learn?”

Maria shrugged flippantly, “It’s a great language and my girlfriend’s Russian. So, why not?”

“Come on, Maria,” Natasha pressed, “You knew it before we even got together.”

“Tell me,” Natasha all but pleaded, nudging her girlfriend’s arm again.

The brunette sighed heavily, “I – well, _someone_ on the Helicarrier _–_ had to learn it.”

“When you’d just come to S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Maria began, dropping her gaze, “I’m not sure how much of it you remember, but your reprogramming was quite intense, especially during the initial days.”

 _Oh,_ Natasha grimaced inwardly, _I remember it._

Not the events. The _agony._

“You’d have these, uh… _episodes,”_ the brunette mumbled, “Visions. Flashbacks. Panic attacks.”

Natasha could guess the rest, and she couldn’t help the twinge in her heart.

Maria looked up eventually, a forlorn smile on her lips, “Let’s just say that speaking in Russian was the only way to be in the same boat as the Widow.”

 _“Literally,”_ the brunette added, grinning impishly this time.

Natasha chuckled back, despite the bittersweet ache in her chest, and threaded her fingers through her girlfriend’s.

“So, yeah,” Maria exhaled, “It began as a necessity, but then quickly grew into curiosity.”

“Why?” Natasha cocked up an eyebrow, “You wanted to woo the Widow?”

“No,” Maria grinned, “I wanted to _win her over._ Win _Agent Romanoff_ over.”

And Natasha just had to lean over and kiss her, overwhelmed by the brunette’s concern. Even when they hadn’t been romantically involved.

“About the party, though, seriously,” Maria said after a bit, “You sure you want to go? You might overexert yourself –”

“Relax, Maria,” Natasha reassured her, squeezing her girlfriend’s fingers, “I’m not tired. I just need to take a breather every now and then.”

“Moreover,” Natasha went on, “It’s been quite some time since I met Ahuja. I’d like to see how married life is treating him.”

“Oh, it’s treating him well,” Maria replied, smiling to herself, “We were talking the other day, and he told me that _‘things are exactly as they used to be, and yet, they’re totally different.’_ Whatever _that’s_ supposed to mean… _”_

“I sort of get it,” Natasha said, and the brunette instantly looked towards her, “By what he means by things not really changing.”

“I mean, look at us,” Natasha went on, “We’ve already got the _in-sickness-and-in-health_ part down to a fine art, but there ain’t no ring on this.”

Natasha disentangled their hands and wiggled her fingers up in the air for emphasis.

Maria chuckled a little and then shook her head, “Kind of makes you wonder what it would be like…”

Natasha pondered it for a bit before speaking, “It could be worth it.”

“For better or for worse,” Natasha murmured, “Marriage could be worth it, if you’re with the right person.”

The brunette studied her for a while, and then her lips curved up in a smile that was… _wistful?_ Or was it _hopeful?_

Before Natasha could discern it, Maria ducked her head and nodded to herself, almost absently.

 _“Anyway,”_ Natasha said, making the brunette look up, “We should get going. I’d _hate_ to miss out on the starters at Ahuja’s party.”

The taller woman shook her head fondly, and then they got up to leave. And Natasha had taken only two steps ahead when she was stopped by a hand holding hers.

Natasha turned around, and her heart all but stopped when she found Maria down on one knee, “Marry me?”

* * *

“Marry me?”

“Not because we _need_ to,” Maria added immediately, “Because we _don’t._ Like you just said, what we’ve got is _already_ great, and I wouldn’t mind living this way, even if you say no.”

And just like that, Natasha fell for the woman all over again. _Harder,_ and with a lot more ardour.

With Maria, it was always a _crossroad,_ never a _dead-end_. Even when Natasha rode shotgun, _she_ was the one leading the way. Always.

_This metaphor is going off-track._

(That pun is intended.)

But Natasha could hardly stop the way her heart was bursting with love. Maria had eternally done that; given Natasha a choice, not an ultimatum. Like she knew that the only way to hold Natasha was by setting her free.

 _But she’ll never know just how much control_ she _has over me._

“I’m really not an expert,” Maria spoke again, her eyes softening, “But what I _do_ know is that marriage is… _traditional._ Conventional. _Old-fashioned.”_

The taller woman chuckled a little to herself, “God knows we need that, in our otherwise insane lives.”

“And I _want_ that,” Maria said, the sapphires sparkling, “I want that _with you._ Because I believe it too, that it’ll be worth it.”

_Of course. She needed to hear that from me…_

“You’re everything I have, Natasha,” the brunette murmured, her eyes glazing over, “You’re everything I’ve ever _wanted_ to have.”

“And I want to be yours,” Maria whispered, that lopsided grin tugging on her lips, “In every way that I can be. For the rest of my life.”

The taller woman let out a sigh and left Natasha’s hand, her smile turning shaky. She kept her eyes locked with Natasha’s as she reached into her jacket, producing a small velvet box in her hand. _(Finally)._

“So, Natasha Romanoff,” Maria breathed, opening the box to reveal the ring, “Be my wife?”

But Natasha simply couldn’t tear her gaze away from her girlfriend’s eyes, the shimmer in the sapphires more dazzling than every diamond in the world.

_I’ve waited so long for this…_

“I can’t give you an answer right now,” Natasha said, willing her voice to stay strong.

The brunette’s expression instantly dimmed, her smile faltering as she ducked her head. The woman brought her hands down and closed the box, a gentle smile on her lips when she looked up again.

“I understand,” Maria mumbled, and then proceeded to stand up, “This is all very unexpected, and I get that you need some time to think a–”

“Ask me again,” Natasha cut her off.

The taller woman gaped at her for a few seconds, her lips still parted as she blinked confusedly at Natasha. Maria closed her mouth eventually and began lowering herself to the ground again, and Natasha reached forward to hold the brunette by her arms, stopping her.

Natasha shook her head slowly: _keep standing, and ask me again._

And Maria’s eyes had never been softer: _but it’s tradition…_

The taller woman got down on one knee again and tilted her head up to continue gazing at Natasha, that anxious look back on her face.

“Will you…” Maria began, her eyes filling with hope, “Will you marry me?”

The brunette kept looking at Natasha, the blue orbs _begging_ Natasha to say –

_“Yes.”_

Natasha knelt on the ground just after whispering the word, her hand cupping the taller woman’s cheek.

“Yes?” Maria mumbled, her features etched with disbelief.

Natasha brushed her thumb over the bone beneath the brunette’s eye, “Yes.”

She waited just long enough to see the relief wash over Maria’s face before leaning forward and pressing their lips together. And they kissed each other with fervour, the joy – the _transcendent_ joy – dancing on their lips, unbidden and unhidden.

Natasha grabbed the brunette’s collar, pulling the woman along with her as she stood up, their lips never breaking apart.

“Took you long enough to ask,” Natasha hummed in between kisses.

“You knew…?” Maria pulled back immediately, “You knew I was going to propose? How…?”

“The Widow has her ways, soldier,” Natasha answered, crossing her hands behind the brunette’s neck.

The taller woman kept staring at her, and Natasha knew she was going to put it together in no time.

And soon enough, Maria shook her head, smiling sheepishly, “Laura told you.”

Natasha grinned back as she nodded, “You mentioned it to her, when? Two months ago, right?”

“Well,” Natasha smirked, “She told _me_ exactly 1 month and 29 days ago.”

Maria growled under her breath, “She wouldn’t last _2 days_ if she were an agent…”

"Give the woman some credit, Hill," Natasha chuckled, "At least she didn't tell _you_ that she'd told _me."_

Maria grumbled back adorably, "The _traitor..."_

They laughed together for a bit, shaking their heads, before the brunette’s expression suddenly froze.

“Wait, _that’s_ why you brought up the topic that day,” Maria murmured, her eyes widening, “At Ahuja’s wedding, you started all that marriage-talk because you knew… you knew I would chicken out, and I’d need a push.”

“It clearly didn’t work,” Natasha chuckled, “You still waited another month before you got up the nerve.”

“It _had_ worked, Nat,” Maria mumbled, her voice sombre, “I’d heard what I needed to hear that day, and I _was_ going to ask you. But then, that wedding – _those 2 days –_ went to hell, and then you…”

The taller woman stopped talking and dropped her head, her gaze flitting down to Natasha’s legs. Natasha brushed her nails over the nape of the brunette’s neck, prompting her to look up.

Maria sighed heavily, her eyes dimming, “I just wanted you to have the option of… _walking away,_ if you wanted to.”

And Natasha knew the woman meant that figuratively _and_ literally _._ And Natasha couldn’t _possibly_ be more touched.

“I didn’t want you to feel trapped,” Maria whispered, “Neither by me, nor by yourself.”

And Natasha pulled the brunette into another kiss, her heart barely able to contain the devotion for the woman.

Maria pulled back after a bit, “I need you to know that I’m not doing this because I want things to change between us.”

“Because I _don’t_ want that,” the taller woman said, her voice as soft as it was staunch, “At least not at the moment.”

The brunette waited for a bit, and Natasha realised what she was talking about. That very conversation they’d had a month ago, at the wedding. About marriage bringing in new expectations.

“This isn’t me asking for something _more_ from you,” Maria said, her gaze flickering a little, “I just… I…”

“You love me, and you want to marry me,” Natasha supplied, when the brunette couldn’t continue.

Maria heaved a sigh, a small smile on her lips, “Only if you want to…”

 _“I do,”_ Natasha replied – instantly and obliviously – and the brunette’s face lit up with the most gorgeous grin.

“I want this too, Maria,” Natasha murmured, smiling back, “I’ve wanted this for a while now; ever since I’d found out that you were going to propose.”

“And I get why you waited this long,” Natasha went on, caressing the nape of the brunette’s neck, “But you really didn’t have to. My answer was always going to be yes.”

Natasha brought a hand forward, the knuckles brushing over the brunette’s jaw, “I’ve told you before, I’m at peace when I’m with you.”

“You don’t make me feel trapped,” Natasha whispered, and the blue eyes immediately mellowed.

_Never have, never will._

“And I could _never_ walk away from you,” Natasha added, her own smile soft, “Crutches, or no crutches.”

And this time, Maria pulled them closer, covering Natasha’s lips with her own, a hand squeezing Natasha’s waist gently. And they kissed each other for the longest time, the breeze around them carrying their bliss with it.

“Well, then, soldier,” Natasha hummed after a bit, pulling back, “You going to make me wait another month before giving me my ring?”

“Oh, right, yes,” Maria mumbled, rather sheepishly.

The taller woman fumbled a little while opening the box in her hand, and Natasha barely curbed her squeal of laughter at the brunette’s eagerness. Maria’s fingers trembled as she plucked the ring out of its fixture and slid it onto Natasha’s finger. Natasha looked down at the ring, and her heart stopped yet again, for the _millionth_ time that day.

The platinum band was plain and thin, and yet, it stood out, with the small horizontal hourglass shape in the centre, a diamond in each of the two triangles.

The Black Widow’s insignia.

_Damn. Was it always this beautiful?_

It looked so pristine and precious – and _pure –_ in white, it took Natasha’s breath away. Because she suddenly understood what that symbol signified, _on the ring._

It was the message that Maria had always openly expressed: _I accept you for who you were, and I respect you for who you are._

And Natasha could hardly believe it. The way the brunette loved her. It was just so…

So _obliterating._

So _liberating._

Tears involuntarily sprang to Natasha’s eyes, and she pulled Maria into a hug, hiding her face in the crook of her girlfriend’s – _her fiancée’s –_ neck.

“Hey,” Maria murmured, her hand running down Natasha’s back, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Natasha mumbled, snuggling deeper into the embrace, “I’m just wondering…”

The taller woman squeezed Natasha’s waist lightly: _tell me._

Natasha sighed against her fiancée’s neck, “What did I ever do to deserve you? To deserve _this?”_

Maria stiffened violently at the words. She tried to pull out of the hug, but Natasha didn’t let her, not prepared to see the brunette’s expression.

“You really want to know, don’t you?” Maria murmured, and Natasha could only tighten her arms around the brunette’s midsection.

“You deserve this, Nat,” Maria spoke after a bit, “You deserve it because you came to S.H.I.E.L.D., even though you had no idea what we'd do to you.”

“You deserve it because you chose to keep your memories,” the taller woman went on, “We offered to get rid of them during the reprogramming, but you didn’t want that. Didn’t want a _fresh start.”_

“You wanted a _second chance,”_ Maria breathed, her voice as reverent as it could be, “To make amends.”

Natasha grabbed a fistful of the taller woman’s jacket, unable to stop her tears.

“You say you want _atonement,”_ Maria whispered, “But what you’re always seeking is _punishment._ Because you know that no matter what, you’ll never forgive _yourself.”_

A strangled whimper left Natasha’s lips, and the brunette immediately stroked her back, the touch soothing Natasha’s very soul.

“You deserve it because you secretly have a huge heart,” Maria continued, “A heart that’s just _filled_ with kindness.”

 _And blood,_ Natasha would have joked, if she could find her voice.

“Kindness for _everyone,”_ the brunette added, “Kindness that _you_ never even got to experience.”

And Natasha blinked rapidly, fighting back yet another wave of sobs.

Maria sighed raggedly, “You deserve it because you smile – and you make _me_ smile – even when life doesn’t give you a single reason to.”

The taller woman chuckled a little to herself, “You deserve it because you changed me from Agent Grey-or-blue to Agent Red-and-ready-to-wed.”

Natasha gave her a watery laugh and then nipped at her fiancée’s neck devoutly, trying to push down the lump in her throat.

“You deserve it because you still don’t think you do,” Maria sighed defeatedly.

“You still don’t think you’re worthy,” the brunette murmured, her voice paper-thin, “Of being happy. Of being _loved.”_

Natasha burrowed her face further into the taller woman’s neck, muffling yet another cry.

“I could go on some more,” Maria mumbled, sagging a little against Natasha, “But it wouldn’t matter. I know you don’t believe anything I say.”

“And I hate it just as much as I love it,” the taller woman muttered, _“Your ignorance.”_

Maria inhaled deeply, “But I’ll spend the rest of my days trying to –”

 _“I do,”_ Natasha cut her off, pulling out of the hug, “I believe you.”

Maria gave her a wistful smile and then bent down, capturing Natasha’s lips in the gentlest kiss. Her arm snaked around Natasha’s waist, and Natasha melted into the brunette’s body as their lips moved together.

They pulled apart eventually, and Maria gazed back at her intently, “Don’t ever ask me that question again, Natasha, _please.”_

“Don’t ask _me,”_ the taller woman mumbled, ducking her head, “Because I’m hardly any more deserving than –”

“Watch your words, soldier,” Natasha stopped her, her voice soft despite her glare, “The Widow doesn’t take kindly to anyone talking crap about her fiancée.”

The brunette looked up and then raised her hand, wiping away the stray tears on Natasha’s cheek. Natasha gave her a cheeky smirk, and just like that, the atmosphere had lightened again. The taller woman bent down and pecked Natasha’s lips, her eyes shining with fondness when she pulled back.

 _“‘Fiancée,’_ huh?” Maria grinned, “That sure has a nice ring to it…”

_Oh, that reminds me…_

“Okay, I just _have_ to ask you,” Natasha said, her hands coming up to fist the brunette’s collar, _“Where_ did you hide the ring?”

Natasha’s gaze flitted to her now-ringed finger, “I searched the whole house, but I couldn’t find the box.”

_Not that I would’ve taken a look inside, even if I’d found it._

She’d never ruin Maria’s surprise.

The taller woman smirked triumphantly, “You didn’t find it in the house, _because it_ _wasn’t there.”_

Natasha studied the brunette incredulously, trying to solve the mystery by herself.

_She’d never risk keeping it on her all the time. Or at the office._

And then Natasha figured it out; the brunette’s words from earlier that evening suddenly coming back to her.

_The glove compartment._

The Cave of Wonders. With _the_ hidden treasure.

“The car,” Natasha said, smiling at her fiancée, “That’s where you’d kept it, isn’t it?”

It was a strategic spot, given that Natasha would probably never have been able to conduct her little search operation in there without Maria being around.

Maria grinned back, “What was it you’d called my car, a month ago? A _wingwoman-on-wheels,_ right?”

 _“Well,”_ the taller woman whispered conspiratorially, a lopsided grin on her lips, “I guess I had to enlist her “services” one last time…”

Natasha chuckled back lovingly and then rose on her toes, pressing her lips against her fiancée’s, the kiss slow and deep.

“Agent Maria _“Hard-ass”_ Hill,” Natasha murmured against the brunette’s lips, “I love you so damn much.”

“The feeling’s mutual, Romanoff,” Maria mumbled in between kisses, “I love me too.”

“Not more than _I_ do,” Natasha replied within 2 seconds flat, rather proud of her own retort.

The taller woman pulled back and laughed heartily, _“Damned smartass.”_

They chuckled together for a bit, the laughter – the _love –_ buzzing between them like electricity.

 _“Okay,_ then,” Natasha eventually huffed, “It’s getting dark, let’s get going. We’re already late for the party.”

She shot the brunette another smile and then began walking. And she was stopped yet again by a sharp tug.

Maria yanked at her hand, and the force of the pull made Natasha whirl around and roll into the taller woman’s outstretched arm, her back grazing the brunette’s chest. Maria caught her soon enough, stopping the spin at just the right instance, and Natasha found herself standing face-to-face with the taller woman again.

“We’re not done dancing yet,” Maria said, a brow cocked up.

Natasha narrowed her eyes, a tad breathless from the move, “But –”

“The _waltz_ was just a _warm-up,”_ Maria smirked wolfishly, “What I have planned for us is a little something I’d like to call _‘Tango in the Twilight.’”_

Natasha stifled her smile with superhuman effort, “That’s the _cheesiest_ thing you’ve ever said, Hill.”

The taller woman didn’t reply just yet, her free hand reaching inside her jacket to bring out her phone again.

“Cheesy or not, Romanoff,” Maria whispered, a shrewd shimmer in her sapphires, “This time, _you’ll_ be the one dancing to _my_ tunes.”

Natasha raised her chin boldly, green eyes locking with blue, “I will.”

_This time and every time._

The taller woman fiddled with the phone, and within seconds, the signature _Dirty Dancing_ song started playing.

“Shall we?” Maria said, tucking the device back into her pocket.

Natasha promptly took her fiancée’s hand, “We shall.”

And _damn,_ if they didn’t have the time of their lives.

* * *

“So, what game are we playing tonight?”

Natasha popped some of the spiced nuts into her mouth just after asking the question.

Maria was sitting beside her, on the bar-stool next to hers, and she raised her eyebrows in a classic _whatever-is-going-on-in-your-evil-mind_ gesture.

They’d _finally_ made it to Ahuja’s party, after what had to be the most _tantalising_ tango ever on that hilltop.

_Ha, Hill-top._

_Anyway,_ so, they were _here_ now, at the all-you-can-eat-and-drink party. They’d met the host couple – Ahuja and his wife had given them a hand-shake and a hug, respectively – and then they’d flitted around for a while, making small-talk with their “co-workers.” After having their dinner _(inhaling it,_ more like), they’d settled down at the bar, all the way at the end of the party hall.

Natasha sipped her vodka before speaking again, “We did that the last time we were at one of Ahuja’s events. It only makes sense to keep up the tradition.”

Maria winced a little, “I’m not sure I want to keep up _any_ tradition from that day.”

“Come on, soldier,” Natasha said, nudging the woman’s arm, “The countdown’s still a while away. A game to pass our time wouldn’t hurt.”

Maria nodded slowly and then took a sip of her scotch-and-soda, her gaze drifting away, her expression thoughtful. Natasha waited for the brunette to speak and helped herself to the nuts once again.

Maria’s eyes soon fixed themselves on something (or someone?) in the far distance beside them, and her lips curved up in a sly smile.

“How about a dare?” the taller woman suggested, looking at Natasha again.

Natasha propped her elbow on the counter and placed her chin in her palm, “Listening…”

“Alright, then,” Maria began, “I know you haven’t been to the office in a month, but do you still remember the receptionist?”

Natasha nodded, “The twenty-something chick who always speaks in _2 octaves_ higher than normal people?”

“That’s the one,” the taller woman chuckled, “So, she’s walking over to us right now, and she seems to be looking at your hand.”

“At the _ring_ on your hand,” Maria added, an eyebrow arched up for emphasis.

“She’s going to reach here soon,” the brunette resumed, “And she’s going to ask you questions. The _who’s-the-special-one_ kind.”

And Natasha knew where this was going.

“And all _you_ have to do,” Maria paused for effect, “Is tell her the truth. _Without_ telling her the truth, of course.”

And Natasha knew the catch in the challenge: _tell her while maintaining our covers._

Of being platonic colleagues.

Natasha scoffed back at her fiancée, “It’s supposed to be truth _or_ dare, Hill. Not truth _and_ dare.”

“Whatever,” Maria shrugged offhandedly, “You have just about 7 seconds to decide if you’re going to play…”

 _Of course,_ Natasha was going to play.

She had just schooled her features into a casual smile when said woman – black hair, hazel-brown eyes, average height, lithe figure, sharp cheekbones – appeared beside them.

_Dammit, I’ve forgotten her name._

_“Hello,_ Nina!” Hazel-eyes all but squealed, using Natasha’s cover name, “It’s so great to see you again after so many days!”

Natasha smiled back cordially, “Good to see you too. Those earrings are _gorgeous.”_

“You’re bejewelled too, I see,” Hazel-eyes grinned, her gaze flitting down to Natasha’s hand, “That’s a _beautiful_ ring.”

_Yeah, it is._

“So,” Hazel-eyes looked up, “Who’s the special one?”

Natasha glanced towards her fiancée, and Maria had cocked up a brow: _told you._

And Natasha promptly narrowed her eyes: _okay, then, game on._

Natasha shifted her focus back to Hazel-eyes, “Yeah, I got engaged just earlier this evening.”

 _“To a soldier,”_ Natasha said, her smile turning sly.

Her gaze flitted towards her fiancée once more before she looked at Hazel-eyes again, “An _American_ soldier.”

That wasn’t one, but _two_ truths right there. And Natasha could see it in the corner of her eyes; the shy-yet-impressed smile on Maria’s lips.

“Sounds great!” Hazel-eyes gushed, “What’s this soldier like?”

_Oh, well, what can I say. She’s –_

“Part-time soft-spoken,” Natasha answered, “Full-time _hard-ass.”_

 _“And all-round amazing,”_ Natasha finished, watching her fiancée in her peripheral vision.

Maria ducked her head, and Natasha’s insides fluttered with warmth as she caught the brunette’s coy smile.

“You can ask my roommate here,” Natasha added, shifting to look at her fiancée, “She knows all about it.”

Maria looked up, her eyes just a tad wider than usual: _what, now?_

And Natasha shot her a subtle – yet _smug –_ smirk: _your turn, soldier._

Hazel-eyes followed suit and turned to face Maria, and the brunette promptly morphed her features into a suave smile.

 _“I do,”_ Maria spoke, “I _do_ know all about it.”

“And I’ve heard stories of _you_ too, _Nina,”_ the brunette added, her smile turning shrewd, “About how you’re incorrigible. And insufferable.”

And Natasha grinned back at her fiancée’s two _favourite_ adjectives for her.

“And _incredible,”_ Maria finished, smiling softly this time.

Hazel-eyes chuckled beside them, and the moment was ended before it even began.

“Okay, then,” the woman spoke, “It was nice catching up with you guys. I’ll see you around at the office.”

“Congrats on your engagement, Nina!” Hazel-eyes added, smiling at Natasha one last time before sashaying away.

Natasha waited till the woman was out of earshot and then shifted her attention back to her fiancée.

“There you go, Agent,” Natasha smirked, “Mission accomplished.”

 _“Beautifully_ ,” Maria agreed, her eyes shimmering in appreciation.

The word suddenly reminded Natasha of Hazel-eyes' comment, and she flashed the taller woman a shaky smile.

“I should’ve said this way before,” Natasha mumbled, her gaze flitting to the platinum band on her finger, “It really is a beautiful ring.”

Maria beamed back at her, “I’m glad you like it.”

“I _love_ it,” Natasha said, almost immediately.

“But I…” Natasha dropped her head, “I won’t be able to wear it every day.”

Because the world couldn’t know.

_That the Black Widow is engaged. Or married._

Natasha looked up after a bit, “I don’t want to lose the ring.”

_Or you._

“I know, Nat,” Maria replied, her eyes soft, “I understand.”

“Besides,” the brunette added, “I can recognise my fiancée, ring or no ring.”

Maria’s smile turned impish as she continued, “She’ll be the one telling everybody the woes of being engaged to an American.”

“An American _soldier,”_ Natasha corrected, rather sagely, “Who’s marrying a _Russian spy.”_

“We’re basically a movie begging to be made,” Natasha added, smiling cheekily.

Maria laughed a little, “Throw in a couple Cold War scenes, and they might just make it.”

“Doubt it, though,” Natasha quipped, her grin turning wicked, “Because none of the _‘scenes’_ between us could be described as _‘cold.’”_

And they chuckled together, shaking their heads fondly. Maria finished the last of her drink, once the laughter fizzled out, and then called for the bartender.

“May I?” Natasha nudged the brunette’s knee with her own.

Maria studied her for a bit and then smiled, “Go ahead.”

Natasha thought about it for a while, their exchanges from that whole day coming back to her, and she knew just the drink to get her fiancée.

Natasha quirked up an eyebrow, “You okay with a cocktail?”

“Sure,” Maria replied, a lopsided grin on her lips.

As if she _knew_ what Natasha was going to order for her.

_Oh, but do you?_

Natasha turned to face the front just as the bartender walked over to them.

“She’ll have an Old Fashioned, extra sweet,” Natasha spoke, a small grin on her lips, “Bulleit Bourbon, please.”

She immediately saw Maria’s smile in the corner of her eyes, and her own grin grew wider. The brunette loved whiskey, and Natasha knew that her choice of the drink was perfect.

“And some vodka for me,” Natasha added, smiling kindly at the bartender, “Vodka, neat.”

The guy nodded and got them their drinks, and they reached for their glasses together. The bartender soon walked away, and they turned to face each other again.

“Well, well, Romanoff,” Maria said, sipping her drink and then grinning, “You got me the most _American_ drink ever…”

Natasha smirked back and brought her own glass up to her lips, the glint of the ring on her finger bright despite the faint lighting around them.

“I thought I’d spare you this time, soldier,” Natasha shrugged nonchalantly, taking a sip of her vodka.

“Either way,” Natasha whispered, gazing deep into her fiancée’s eyes, “You’re stuck with a White Russian for the rest of your life.”

* * *

 _“Dammit,_ Maria, open the door faster!”

 _“Jesus,_ Nat, what’s the hurry?”

“I’ve had a couple vodkas too many, and I need to… _just make it quick!”_

Maria fumbled a little with the house keys, and Natasha cursed under her breath.

They’d gotten home from the party, just after the countdown, and they were out on the driveway of their house, and _goddammit,_ Maria was _still_ fidgeting with the damn keys.

The brunette eventually opened the door and they stumbled inside the house. And Natasha hardly waited for the taller woman to close the door before pushing Maria against the wall beside the entrance.

She pressed her lips against the brunette’s, her hands working haphazardly to shrug the jacket off Maria. Throwing the apparel aside, Natasha cupped her fiancée’s cheek and pulled Maria even closer. She devoured the brunette’s lips hungrily, her other hand reaching under Maria’s shirt, her fingers roaming over the taller woman’s abs.

“Whoa, Nat, easy,” Maria mumbled in between kisses, “You’re so hammered…”

“So what?” Natasha all but muttered against the brunette’s lips, “I’m not some drunk chick you picked up at a bar.”

She raked her nails over her fiancée’s midsection, “I’m the drunk chick who’s going to be your wife.”

Maria instantly grabbed Natasha by her waist, “Say that again, _please…”_

Natasha pulled back and looked up at the taller woman, their chests heaving, their breaths deep and ragged. And Natasha could see the desperation in the blue orbs, despite the haze of the inebriety. And the _desire._

 _“Your wife,_ Maria,” Natasha whispered, as reverently as she could, “I’m going to be _your wife.”_

The word must have been an aphrodisiac or something, because Maria let out a growl and then flipped them around, pressing Natasha’s back against the wall.

The taller woman reached for the hem of Natasha’s shirt and pulled it above her, immediately bending down to place open-mouthed kisses on Natasha’s exposed shoulder. Natasha arched her neck, giving her fiancée access, and she found Maria’s arm draping around her hip, the fingers digging lightly into her skin.

The taller woman pulled back and then sank to her knees, her fingers shaking a little as she fumbled with the button on Natasha’s jeans. She undid it soon enough, and Natasha helped her as she shimmied the pants down and stepped out of them.

Natasha was already wet, and Maria’s eyes darkened immediately, but she paused and looked up, her gaze finding Natasha’s.

And Natasha growled impatiently, _“Goddammit,_ Maria, just _take me al–”_

Ready.

Oh, Natasha _wasn’t_ ready. The taller woman yanked Natasha’s underwear down and then leaned forward, her tongue plunging into Natasha’s curves. And Natasha couldn’t hold back her gasp – _of pleasure –_ as her head snapped up.

She looked down eventually, and the sight – of Maria’s face burrowed between her thighs – drove her crazy all over again, and she shivered, a deep moan leaving her lips. And she only got louder as the brunette continued her ministrations, her mouth reaching all the right spots.

Natasha’s legs trembled, and Maria promptly replaced her tongue with her hand, her thumb rubbing languid circles. Natasha rolled her hips impatiently into her fiancée’s hand, and Maria slipped a finger into her, her other hand rising to grip Natasha’s waist.

Natasha’s back arched involuntarily, and she moaned yet again, her fiancée’s name sounding like a prayer on her lips. Maria set the rhythm, slow and sweet, and Natasha’s fingers tangled into the brunette’s hair, her eyes shutting close.

But Natasha was close – _oh-so-close –_ and she couldn’t stop herself from grinding her hips down Maria’s hand. The taller woman chuckled, the husky sound making the hair at the back of Natasha’s neck stand, and then slipped in another finger, her movements gaining pace.

And within no time, Natasha came completely undone around her fiancée’s hand, the world shattering around her in a hot explosion. And Maria immediately slowed her thrusts, guiding Natasha through the aftershocks of her climax. The brunette eased her fingers out of Natasha, and Natasha gasped a little again.

She grabbed the woman by her collar, pulling her so she’d stand up. Maria got to her feet, and then she unhooked Natasha’s bra impatiently, flinging it aside as she dove down to grab a nipple in her teeth. The brunette moved up soon, and then her mouth was back on Natasha’s neck, peppering kisses up her throat.

“I hate it when you do that,” Natasha muttered, her voice breathless and her chest heaving.

Maria laughed gruffly against her neck, “Yeah, that’s _exactly_ what it sounded like, a minute ago.”

“I hate it when _you kneel,”_ Natasha growled, turning her head to let the brunette kiss her jaw.

“Yeah?” Maria murmured, “Well, too bad, because _I_ love it.”

“So, I’m going to have to tell you –” the brunette paused to kiss Natasha, “– _very_ respectfully –” another kiss, “– to _suck_ it.”

Natasha grabbed the woman’s collar and broke apart, “Oh, that’s _exactly_ what I’m going to do…”

With that, Natasha began walking, her hands still fisting the fabric as she pushed Maria backwards. The taller woman kept her gaze locked with Natasha’s, her eyes growing darker with each step. They reached the sofa soon, Natasha pushed the brunette lightly, making her fall onto the couch.

She made quick work of Maria’s clothes, discarding the shirt and jeans carelessly in seconds. Not wasting any more of them, Natasha pulled the brunette’s underwear down, and then drove her tongue down Maria’s curves, her strokes hard and fast. The taller woman inevitably gasped, her thighs shaking around Natasha as the throes of ecstasy ravaged her, and Natasha almost smiled at the role-reversal.

She brought herself up eventually, her hand replacing her tongue, and she watched with carnal delight as Maria’s eyes squeezed close when she slipped a finger into her. Natasha trailed kisses up her fiancée’s abs as she began the thrusts, the pace slow – _sinfully_ slow – and Maria’s hand flew to grasp her shoulder, her lips forming Natasha’s name, in the softest voice.

The brunette rolled her hips into Natasha’s hand, and Natasha promptly gave in, slipping in another finger and quickening her movements. Natasha worked with finesse even as she panted against Maria’s shoulder, watching every ministration bring her fiancée closer to the peak…

And then, well, they welcomed the new year with a _bang._

* * *

“You ready for the next round?”

“Aren’t you tired, soldier? I thought you’d be pretty spent after what I just did to you…”

Natasha wiggled her eyebrows devilishly, and Maria gave her a _you-and-your-one-track-mind_ headshake.

“I meant the next round of _this,_ Romanoff,” the brunette all but sighed, pointing to their laptop screens.

And the “this” that Maria was talking about was the chunk of reports that they’d taken a break from reading.

Right after their out-of-the-world lovemaking (there _had_ been a next round of that), they’d gotten a call from Fury.

(Of course, the Director still couldn’t care less about the time difference. Or the fact that it was New Year’s).

Fury had asked (ordered) them to study some (it really wasn’t “some”) dockets, regarding the latest intel they’d sent back to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s servers. He’d assured them that there wasn’t any impending crisis. But he’d also said that the files needed to be checked urgently.

_Classic Fury ninjutsu._

So, there they were, in just their pants and bras (worn to… _avoid_ _distractions)_ , hunched over their laptops, burning the past-midnight oil.

“I’ve got to say, though,” Maria said, smirking a little, _“We-got-engaged_ sex is pretty damn amazing…”

“You know what’s _better?”_ Natasha grinned back, _“We-got-married_ sex.”

“And speaking of that,” Natasha added, “How about a June wedding?”

“Can we start the planning tomorrow?” Maria mumbled, running a tired hand over her face, “Right now, I just want to finish this and _sleep._ Probably _till_ June.”

Natasha chuckled a little, “Come on, tell me, what do you think?”

The brunette blew out a low whistle, “Well, summer is a great season for a wedding…”

“Yeah,” Natasha grinned, “It’ll be _hot._ Just like _us.”_

Maria laughed back, _“Sure,_ it will.”

“Okay, then,” Natasha said, beaming at her fiancée, “A June wedding, it shall be.”

The taller woman smirked back, an eyebrow quirked up, “Think you can wait that long, Romanoff?”

“Oh, I’m more patient that you’ll know,” Natasha replied, echoing her own words from earlier that day.

The sapphires softened, and Maria leaned closer, kissing Natasha gently. It was an unexpected move – though never _unwelcome –_ but Natasha found her hand rising to cup her fiancée’s cheek. They broke apart, but Maria kept her forehead pressed against Natasha’s, her hand coming forward to squeeze Natasha’s waist.

“What are you thinking?” Natasha whispered.

“Nothing, it’s just…” Maria sighed, “Everything’s so great right now, and we’re so happy, and I keep wondering if fate’s going to… _drop a bomb_ on us.”

The brunette chuckled wryly at her own pun, but Natasha felt the same anguish as her fiancée. Trouble just seemed to have a way of finding them.

_But I won’t let it._

“Yeah, it will,” Natasha murmured, brushing her thumb over the brunette’s jaw, “And it’ll drop _two_ bombs this time too. At _our_ wedding.”

Maria pulled back, eyeing her curiously, and Natasha flashed her a silly smile, _“You and me.”_

“We are _the bomb,_ Hill,” Natasha grinned, “And we ain’t never going to stop ticking.”

She’d completed the unfinished sentence – from that blasted night (pun oh-so-intended) – and the taller woman laughed fondly.

“Okay, then,” Maria breathed eventually, “Back to work, shall we, Agent Romanoff?”

“Sure, Agent Hill,” Natasha smiled impishly, “And then we sleep. Till June.”

“Till _our wedding,”_ Maria whispered, grinning back.

And Natasha blushed a little at the thought. Of _their wedding._

 _Damn, we’re really –_ actually – _going to be married…_

They smiled at each other like lovesick idiots, and then shifted their focus back to the files. And just like that, they were back to being colleagues, pointing out each other’s mistakes as they analysed the intel.

“Hey, Nat?” Maria spoke after a bit.

Natasha turned to look at her, “Yeah?”

The taller woman let out a soft sigh, “Our marriage isn’t going to be conventional, is it?”

It was Maria’s own word, from earlier that evening, when she’d proposed. And the question was poignant, they both knew. Because the marriage – of _Agents_ Romanoff and Hill – wouldn’t be – _couldn’t_ be – conventional.

“No,” Natasha answered, her own smile mellow, “It’s going to be _legendary.”_

It was a prayer and a prophecy.

“Yeah,” Maria – _her fiancée –_ grinned back, “It will be…”

Legendary will be the life.

When the Widow would be the soldier’s wife.

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have (finally) reached the end.
> 
> I'm not sure if the whole story felt like a guessing game of some sort for you. If it did, then, well... it was intended. Also, I lost count of the I-do's in the story.
> 
> And I, uh... I really hope you enjoyed it.


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